Roads Untraveled
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. "The language of the Time Lords," Sam breathed, utterly entranced now that he was aware what the symbols were.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi guys! While I gather ammo for witty dialogue for THA, I've somehow or another stumbled upon writing this 4-parter. It's an adventure piece, something fun and sci-fi to appease my geeky side. There will be mentions of places and concepts that I've borrowed from _Doctor Who_. If you're a fan, you'll probably get the references. However, you don't have to watch it to understand anything, I promise. Any scientific jargons in here are basically gibberish that I've made up—no logic, whatsoever—so nothing is mathematically accurate.

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Roads Untraveled**

**Part 1**

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 64, Abandoned Warehouse  
**__**02.04.2805, 1430hrs**_

Sam Evans crouched down on a low ledge, his boots scuffing against the rubble beneath his feet and waited with bated breath for his next instruction. Pulse racing from the adrenalin, he stole a quick glimpse over his shoulder to ensure that the rest of his team were in position and gave them a curt nod. He slung his trusted sonic blaster protectively across his torso, cradling the muzzle with one hand and a finger poised at the trigger, ready to pull if need be.

He certainly hoped not.

In the span of eight years, he reckoned he had seen enough violence and death to last him a lifetime; he wanted to wrap this up with as little bloodshed as possible, for everybody's sake. The assignment given to them wasn't difficult—a cakewalk compared to some others that he had been on before—but the stakes were higher. One single mistake could cost them everything, their lives and the jeopardy of the agency.

He scuffed on the spot and dug his heels into the ground, debris crunching against his thick sole. A skilled sniper yet brilliant in combat with an array of honorific accolades, Sam was the perfect soldier. At the age of sixteen, he was the youngest member in Torchwood history to ever be recruited; handpicked by the Director, William Schuester, himself. Within a year, he was leading his own group of special agents for missions throughout the galaxy.

The headset crackled in his ear, and Noah 'Puck' Puckerman's gruff voice gave him final confirmation from his station as surveillance.

"Moving in," Sam gave his orders. "Surprise attack; less lethal. The agency wants him alive."

With a brisk signal, the team jumped into action, swiftly and stealthily. The ambush caught the perpetrator off-guard as his men scrambled haphazardly for their firearms. Shots rang high in the warehouse, bright laser beams penetrating through the windows and glass shattering from above their heads. From his peripheral, Sam caught sight of Sebastian Smythe—the man behind half of the terrorist attacks in the past three months—as he tried to escape with a suitcase in one hand and a pint-sized blaster in another.

"Sam!"

He whipped his head around just as a burly middle-aged dude came barreling towards him; face pinched and snarling, and wielding something sonic in the air. With nimble precision, Sam threw a spin kick to his assailant's ribs before delivering a powerful blow across his jaw, effectively knocking him out cold.

"Sam!" Mike Chang called out once more, gaining his attention. "Smythe!"

"Puck," Sam barked into his headset as he took off sprinting out the back door. "Get the Glider ready. I'm bringing him your way. Finn, I need you up front."

"Copy," both men acknowledged.

Smythe hadn't gone far. The red dot flashing on Sam's wrist monitor indicated his location. It had stopped moving and was simply blinking idly, which could only mean one thing: the son of a bitch had ditched the tracker. Rounding the corner, twenty feet away, the blonde sergeant ducked behind a concrete wall. From the side pocket of his pants, he pulled a hand-held thermal scanner that instantly projected a holographic representation of the premise, pinpointing Smythe's heat signature at the other end of the perimeters.

"Finn, what's your 20?"

"I'm five feet from the Glider drop zone," he promptly replied.

"Smythe is heading your way," Sam informed him. "Round him up or send him back to me."

"Copy."

The Glider was a silent piece of aerospace technology that flew under the radar at Mach 3—triple times faster than the speed of sound—without alerting any form of detection, and had a cloaking mechanism that aided in camouflage. It took a unique set of dexterity to pilot the beast, and Puck was the only one qualified enough to tame it.

"Head's up, Sam," Finn's voice warned. "Smythe at your six o'clock."

He smirked; this was too easy.

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 15, University of Archaic Studies  
**__**02.04.2805, 2200hrs**_

Quinn Fabray heaved a sigh and rubbed her tired eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she strained to stay awake. Operating without sleep for thirty hours straight was finally taking its toll on her, but she couldn't afford to stop now; she was so close to a monumental breakthrough. Papers and books were strewn on the desk in front of her, spread out in an organized mess that only she could make sense of.

There was an incessant beeping of someone calling and she shoved a pile of folders aside to reveal the surface computer, scoffing when a flattering image of Santana Lopez graced the small square of space. With extreme reluctance, she accepted the video chat.

"Bitch, don't tell me you're still slaving away in the office."

"I'm busy, Santana," Quinn huffed, tucking some stray strands of hair behind her ear. "If it's not an emergency, please make it quick."

"You're fucking married to your job, Fabray," the other woman tutted. "Why don't you come out of hibernation and have some fun? We could finally have that shot of hyper-vodka you promised."

She groaned. "I really can't tonight. I still have a couple of Circular Gallifreyan codex to decipher by tomorrow morning, and I think I'm on the brink of discovering something that's going to change how we perceive Time Lord history."

"Wow, that's really interesting—not," Santana remarked with a roll of her heavily-kohled eyes. "Look, Quinn, my point is that the inscriptions will still be there in the morning. Nothing is going to change from now till then, so just get your pretty ass off that chair and make sure you're down here in half an hour or I'm going to go there personally to drag you out—"

"Fine, fine," she relented. "But make that forty-five minutes. Don't think I'll be able to catch a Hover-cab at this time of the night."

Santana did a celebratory twirl, whooping in delight. "That's my girl! All right, then I'll catch you later, Blondie."

As soon as the surface blanked out again, Quinn slowly began to gather her documents. Working as an epigrapher had always been a lifelong ambition of hers—ever since the first time her dad had brought her along on an archaeological expedition to the Kasterborous Constellation.

The Time Lords were a powerful civilization that existed even before the first Old Earth Neanderthals were said to have walked the planet. Evidence had been dated so long back, it was a wonder how they were only discovered some two hundred years ago when a space explorer by the name of Burt Hummel stumbled across a wide span of remains of their majestic architecture. Excavation efforts and archaeological findings indicated an advanced race had dictated the lands—hints of booming agriculture, science and technology—until a day where they simply vanished. Nobody knew of much else beyond that.

Until recently.

Quinn straightened her notes—even with top-of-the-line triple processors, she still preferred the pen and paper—and was shuffling them into a folder when a page slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she realized immediately that it was a scan of the very last page of the complete almanac. She still had a long way to go—had just completed translating the second out of the five volumes—and was about to slide it back in with the rest when a set of symbols—rather, a paragraph of complex system of interlocking circles, hexagons and lines—caught her attention.

Something wasn't right about it; the passage made no sense. Squinting down at the writings, she mulled at the unusual choice of expressions.

"Why would they be talking about an apple that grew from a bunch of shoe laces?" she mused out loud.

From what they had gathered, the Time Lords were a rather literal bunch—everything up to that point had been about their ideas, how they understood that time was always in flux, and used phrases such as 'more like a ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff', which made them seem like a bevy of airhead hippies—but they never spoke in metaphors. Intrigued, she began searching for the fifth volume of the almanac.

The first page was pretty generic. It took her twenty minutes to fully decipher three lines, but then it became apparent that anything after that was pure gibberish.

"What on New Earth is going on here?" she groused in frustration.

The symbols stared mockingly back at her, boggling her mind into a frenzy. There were random bouts of ramblings on chicken pie that didn't quite sit with the rest of the text, and she was fast getting all worked up about it.

Santana Lopez would have to wait.

Plopping back down in her seat, she reached for her leather-bound journal and a pencil.

"Okay," she slowly exhaled. "Let's do this from the start."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**08.04.2805, 0900hrs**_

Shirtless and dripping with sweat, Sam huffed and puffed as his feet steadily thudded on the treadmill in time to the heavy thumping of bass drumming in his ears. Fifteen minutes in, and he was determined to break his personal best, especially with an evaluation coming up, he couldn't afford to slack off now. He was so close to a promotion—could practically feel it on his fingertips—he wasn't going to risk it with complacency.

"Hey, Evans!"

He glanced up to find Mike's head popping out from behind a wall.

"What?"

"The Director wants a meeting with us in ten," he informed, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I suggest you put on a T-shirt or something."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Sam waved him off dismissively. "Fine, fine. I'll be there in a jiffy."

Mike scrunched up his nose. "Who says 'jiffy' anymore?"

"Shut up, Chang."

When his teammate ducked away, Sam stopped the machine before hopping off. Breathing heavily, he reached for the red water bottle on the holder and squirted a heaping amount of isotonic concoction into his mouth. He snatched his towel from the bar, dapping at his face and neck as he jogged over to the shower room. After a quick scrub and a change of clothes, he headed for the meeting room. A scan of his identity card and a thumbprint validation, and the device gave a beep before the soundproof door slid open.

The round table had the Torchwood logo emblazoned in the center, and his men were already seated, restlessly waiting for the head of commands to arrive.

"So, what's this about, then?" Puck was the first to break the silence, directing the question to his team leader.

Sam slumped down on a swivel chair, hitching his ankle up on one knee. "Honestly, I'm as clueless as you are, lads. It's not every day we're being summoned by the Director."

As if he'd heard their predicament, the person in question entered with his personal assistant. Emma Pillsbury, her name was, and almost immediately, she huddled at the furthest corner of the room and prepared to take notes. William Schuester strode to the front, his gray suit crisp and sharp, and slightly intimidating as he stoically took in the circle of agents at his disposal.

"Good morning Team One," he addressed formally, sweeping his gaze over each and every one of them. "I would like to congratulate you on the successful mission regarding Sebastian Smythe, and a job well done on keeping collateral damage to a minimum. That being said, I am here to brief you on your next important assignment."

Sam's brows furrowed in slight perplex. "Not that we don't appreciate this, sir, but isn't that usually what the Captain does? Is he okay?"

The Director seemed to have anticipated such inquiries and nodded. "Everything is fine where the Captain is concerned, and he has been alerted to this briefing. However, the mission that you are all about to embark in is strictly classified. The lesser people we have involved in this, the better. We can't risk any of the information leaking out."

Now that William had garnered the entire room's interest, he cleared his throat and danced his fingers on the table as it doubled up as a surface computer. He keyed in his password, and after running a few encryptions and knocking down a couple of firewalls, a holographic projection blinked to life, producing an intricate amount of hieroglyphics that Sam had not seen before.

"These are Circular Gallifreyan codex inscriptions," Director Schuester explained. "They are—"

"The language of the Time Lords," Sam breathed, utterly entranced now that he was aware what the symbols were.

The Director was impressed. "That's right, Agent Evans."

"I thought the Time Lords were a myth."

A small smirk made its way to the corners of William Schuester's lips. "Well, they're not. Two hundred and fifteen years ago, they were proven to have existed amongst the Kasterborous Constellations. Till today, we have archaeologists and epigraphers working to decipher their complex language. There have been substantial progresses as of late," he paused to ensure that the team was still following. "Until last week."

He pulled up a profile of a gorgeous blonde woman, reaping the attention of all five of his most-abled men. "This is Quinn Fabray, daughter of the famous archaeologist, Russell Fabray. She has been translating Circular Gallifreyan from the age of twelve, the youngest-ever recipient of the Burt Hummel Award at sixteen, had her Ph.D. in Archaic Studies from McIntosh University at eighteen, and is now a TA at the UAS."

Puck released a low whistle, a reaction that was unappreciated by the Director.

"She noticed a flaw in the way people have been reading the scribes and released a paper. It was only meant to be seen by her department, but two days ago, the university's system had been hacked," he continued.

"What's so secretive about deciphering the code?" Finn asked. "I mean, it's not like the inscriptions are made available to the entire universe, right?"

"Unfortunately, Agent Hudson, that's exactly what it means," Director Schuester stated solemnly. "When the system was hacked, all of the files were scattered across DNA lines."

"So you're saying that everybody within this solar system and the next has access to these documents?" Sam clarified. "A massive server sharing black market information?"

"That's absolutely correct."

"So, why exactly are these scribes so classified?" Mike wondered out loud with a tilt of his head. "And what does it have to do with us?"

William turned to his assistant and gave her a nod. She whipped up a handful of data chips and handed them out individually to each agent. Without further instructions, they slid the widget into their wrist monitors and programmed them to the appropriate settings.

"Torchwood is working on tracking those files and deleting them off public servers," he added on. "But there's no telling who's already gotten their hands on those scribes and it's going to take way too long to track them all. What we're left with is containment, but that's not going to be sufficient."

"Why not?" Brody Weston piped up.

"Because the scribes contain a map to a lost book," William explained, his voice lowering. "And if that book falls into the wrong hands, things will get uglier in this galaxy, and now that the codes have been released, there's no telling who else is trying to find it. With those data chips, you are allowed unrestricted access to everything about the mission. You will be given automatic updates from The Book of Rassilon Project, which includes an elite group of epigraphers, archaeologists and linguists. If there's anything else you need, please let Emma know. Your job is to find the book and bring it back in one piece before anybody else. Any questions?"

"Yeah, just one," Puck spoke up.

William arched an eyebrow. "Agent Puckerman."

"Mission commencement date, sir?"

He smirked. "As of twenty minutes ago."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 35, Powell Penthouse  
**__**08.04.2805, 1915hrs**_

Someone had been tailing her home, she was sure of it—could see it from the rearview mirror in the Hover-cab, a black carbon-fibred Swifter—and she made a mention of it to the driver. When asked about it, she spun a tale of a jealous ex-boyfriend, which then sparked a round of twists and turns in an attempt to lose the vehicle. Eventually, though, she was dropped two blocks away from her condo by her insistence.

Clutching the satchel closer to her chest, she made a dash for the opened windows and activated the sun-shields. Her apartment now draped in darkness, she turned the lights on and felt the hair at the back of her neck stand at the realization that she might not be alone. Wide hazel eyes darted around for signs of movement, or of any indication that her home had been violated, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Cautiously, she crept into her bedroom and cursed under her breath when she saw that her curtains were drawn back, living her vulnerably exposed. Swallowing the lump lodged in her throat, she edged closer towards the bedside drawer and pulled out a vintage handgun that had been passed down from her grandfather. In the deafening silence, every movement sounded too harsh as she pressed her back to the wall and strifed to shut the blinds.

And then she heard it.

The engine and propellers.

Despite knowing it was a stupid decision, she took a peek.

"Get down!"

Something hard and solid rammed into her side and knocked her down onto the ground just in the nick of time before the thick panel of glass exploded into lethal shards that rained down heavily upon her. She barely registered the rounds of ammo being fired as she curled into a protective ball underneath the warmth of a man's body.

"Finn, we're under attack," she heard a voice growl out. "Position compromised, subject in danger. We need back-up."

Shots were still ringing in the air, and then someone was tugging to lift her up. All she saw was a pair of striking green eyes before he all but hauled her roughly by the arm. Another uniformed-clad agent appeared and promptly strapped on a Kevlar vest over her torso. She opened her mouth, finding that she desperately needed to say something or else she might pass out, but then he was clipping a carabiner to his own gear and she was suddenly firmly enveloped in his strong arms.

"Puck, what's your 20?" There was a slight pause before he aimed those gorgeous pools of green orbs right at her. "Ma'am, we're going to jump, but please do not struggle or scream. Agent Mike Chang over here will be your number two, in case something snaps and you fall."

"Great," she squeaked.

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Hang on tight and don't let go."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**08.04.2805, 2130hrs**_

"How is she?" Sam asked the medic that had just exited the examination room, hands jammed into the pockets of this cargo pants.

"A little shaken up," Rachel Berry replied empathetically. "But other than that, she's fine. Just a few scrapes and bruises but nothing too severe."

He nodded, and for the umpteenth time resisted the urge to barge in to see for himself that Quinn was indeed unharmed. The fall had been bumpy; he might have jostled her up a bit during the landing and when he had checked to ensure that she was still alive and kicking, she had been unconscious. When they had arrived back at headquarters, she had been whisked for a check-up and his team had been corralled for a debrief.

"I can see you lurking outside, you know."

Startled by the sound of her voice, he blinked through the window and noticed the cheeky grin on her soft features. She sat perched on a cot, bare feet dangling and still covered in a thin layer of soot. He felt the whoosh of blood flooding his cheeks and reached up to rub the nape of his neck, mentally chastising his socially inept self. During the rescue, he hadn't been paying attention—though he knew she was an attractive woman by the image on her profile page—but now that he had a chance to take a proper look, he couldn't deny her endless beauty.

Berating himself to suck it up and not be such a wuss about the situation, he inhaled a lungful of air and scanned his thumbprint for entry. When the door slid open, he was hit with the clinical scent that he always hated.

"Hi," he muttered stupidly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.

Her radiant smile never faltered. "Hi."

"Look, I'm sorry about that earlier," he said, gesturing vaguely at her from head to toe. "I didn't mean to knock you out and all."

"Oh, no," she blurted out, looking adorably sheepish. "I should be thanking you instead, for saving my life. I was aware that Torchwood would be involved, but I didn't really expect—you know—but thank you."

He shrugged. "I had a job to do. It's kind of my thing."

"Of course," she chuckled, sweeping some stray strands of hair out of her eyes. "I suppose it doesn't help that I'm rather jeopardy-friendly."

"It tends to come with the territory when you're involved with classified material. Everybody wants a piece of you, don't they?"

Realization dawned on her, then as she frantically searched around. "My satchel; all of my documents are in there. Where is it?"

"Hey, relax," he assured her, taking a step closer when it appeared that she was about to flee and conduct her own raid. "It's with the Director. It's safe."

A wave of relief washed through her instantly. "Oh, thank goodness," she murmured. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost it, I mean, that's practically my entire life's work, and The Book of Rassilon—"

His expression grew serious. "We can't talk about it here. There's a surveillance camera in the room and not everybody in Torchwood gets clearance for everything. This mission is top secret."

Sam was cut off by a light rapping on the window panel. Turning his head, he caught sight of Finn motioning impatiently for his attendance in the common area, and only then did he notice the proximity between Quinn and him. On reflex, he jerked away and cleared his throat.

"Duty calls," he told her apologetically.

"Sure, don't worry about it."

"Someone's going to come in later to get you settled into a proper room," he notified. "Get a good rest tonight; I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

He made to take his leave when she stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait, I—I don't even know your name."

He tried not to think too much into it as he replied.

"I'm Agent Sam Evans."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**09.04.2805, 0730hrs**_

She hadn't slept all night. As soon as her satchel and documents had been delivered to her room, Quinn had begun poring through the scribes; working tirelessly even though the table lamp was seriously starting to strain her eyes. The fate of the universe was in her hands—on how quickly she could decipher the Circular Gallifreyan codex—she didn't have the luxury of time to dally on.

Hunched over her journal with a graphite pencil in hand, she hadn't even realized the knock on the door until someone was calling out her name. Instantly she recognized that rich timbre and swore to the ceiling. Bolting out of the chair, she winced when she saw her disheveled appearance in the mirror. Her blonde hair looked like something died on her head and she was pale beyond measure. Pinching her cheeks for some color, she straightened her clothes as best as possible before answering the door.

Sam's boyish face split into a wide grin, but one look at her and his expression turned into one of much amusement. It was a frustrating sight, especially since she had yet to brush her teeth and there he stood, like the front cover of a clothing catalogue in a black shirt and standard cargo pants.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

She tried in vain to settle her wild mop of tresses. "No, you didn't. I—I was actually up all night."

His emerald eyes darkened. "I thought I told you to rest."

"Well, there's a world that needs saving and I can sleep when I die, so that's that," she retorted stubbornly, hating how he seemed to be treating her like some incompetent child. "Is there something you need?"

He held his palms up. "Whoa, relax, Quinn. I just—you shouldn't—you'll be surprised what a good night's sleep can do, but whatever you decide to do is entirely your choice. I came by to let you know that we're meeting with the Director for an update in half an hour. You might want to freshen up before that and grab some breakfast. I trust you can find the dining hall on your own."

"Yeah, thanks."

Sam departed without a backwards glance, and she was left feeling like a massive idiot. Groaning at her lack of communication skills, Quinn grabbed the bag of toiletries and Torchwood-issued clothes, and made her way down to the communal shower room. It was relatively empty—she reckoned Torchwood didn't have that many female agents—and the warm water sluicing down her naked body was simply lovely. She had to make do with the undergarments—had to flip her knickers inside out—and the attire was a little bit baggy on her, but she couldn't deny the comfort of breathable cotton and combat trousers. Hair still damp, she pulled it into a ponytail and returned to her room to retrieve her satchel and papers.

Five pairs of eyes zeroed in on her the instant she stepped into the dining hall, four sets of jaws hanging open and a spoon frozen in midair en route to Finn's mouth.

"Good morning," she chirped, attempting to break the awkwardness, and plopped into an unoccupied seat. "What's for breakfast?"

That seemed to snap them out of their blatant gawking, and she had to remind herself that she was in the vicinity of highly-skilled secret agents and not hormonally-imbalanced teenagers. She didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered.

"Toast," Mike choked out and hastily shoved his plate in front of her. "Here, you can have mine. I've had three servings already."

"Would you like some coffee or tea or juice?" Puck scrambled to his feet, attempting to fetch a beverage for her. "Or if you prefer, you know, a soda or—"

"I'm fine," Quinn said, slightly disoriented by the planetary amount of attention. "I'll just—I can fix a cup for myself, don't worry."

As soon as she had her back turned to the coffee machine, she heard a distinct smack, followed by a yelp. There were stern murmurs too inaudible to discern, so she kept her gaze fixed on the dark liquid dispensing in a dark blue mug and tried to hide her flustered state. She returned to the table and immediately noticed the men's sedated demeanor.

"So, Quinn," Brody boldly ventured to engage in polite conversation as she nibbled on Mike's leftovers. "I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Agent Brody Weston, team firearms expert; that's Agent Finn Hudson, geographical field specialist; Agent Noah Puckerman, team pilot; Agent Mike Chang, tactical and strategic analyst; and you know Agent Sam Evans, team leader."

She cocked her head and shot the blonde enforcer a thoughtful glance. "You don't have a specialty?"

He looked visibly offended. "Why don't I send you a copy of my distinctions? I'm sure you'll find a list to your approval."

Flinching at his harsh tone, she reckoned she ought to leave before she aggravated him any further—as she seemed accustomed to doing as of late—and abruptly stood up, dusting off crumbs from her hands and trousers. Snatching her satchel up, she slung it over her shoulder and presented a thin smile to the team.

"I guess I'll see you lads in the meeting room."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**09.04.2805, 0750hrs**_

His teammates were glaring daggers his way, and even though he knew very well the reason why, he opted for the oblivious route, ignoring their scowls of disapproval as he polished off the remains of his breakfast. If anybody could dispel an awkward situation, it was Puck.

"You're a fucking douchebag," he remarked.

"She implied that I was under qualified," Sam sniffed, miffed that he was made the bad guy.

"She didn't mean it like that and you know it," Mike said, more of a factual statement. "What's with you, anyway? You were fine with her last night."

"I dare say he's more than fine with her, actually," Brody snickered. "She didn't come outright and reject you, did she?"

Having had enough for the morning, Sam slammed his hands on the table. "Okay, you know what? Why don't you guys haul your asses into the meeting room instead of gossiping like a bunch of high-school girls? It's none of your bleeding business."

Nobody argued as they promptly cleared the room.

"She's smoking hot, though," Puck piped up out of the blue while they were traipsing down the corridor. "It should be illegal for a woman to look so damn delectable in an agent's uniform."

"You're such a fucking pig," Sam growled.

"If you're not shagging her by the end of this mission, I'm calling dibs."

More than irritated, he thwacked his fellow agent on the back of his Mohawk. "Be professional, Puckerman."

Quinn was already nose-deep in her work when they arrived into the room, so focused scribbling away in her journal that she barely acknowledged their presence until the Director himself sauntered in with a gait of measured importance, the tension clear in his face. Behind him, Emma trailed along diligently, not a strand of hair out of place.

"Good morning Team One," he greeted tersely. "And welcome to Torchwood Ms. Fabray."

"You can just call me Quinn," she quipped. "I don't work well under formal designations."

For the first time in his entire career, Sam witnessed Director William Schuester smile—a rare occasion indeed, and he wondered for a split second if they should start popping the champagne—but as unexpectedly as it appeared, the grin was wiped clean of any lingering traces of humor.

"Ms. Fabray, as of today, nothing that you are working on leaves this agency. You are not allowed to confide or converse with your fellow peers on anything with regards to The Book of Rassilon." the man instructed, his tone leaving no further arguments on the subject. "Your daily updates on the closed server are terminated. You are not to discuss matters to anybody outside of this circle. No other academics are allowed access inside. As of ten minutes ago, you are the only person working on this project."

Her brows furrowed. "What? Why?"

"There had been a hacking attempt into our servers last night," he announced calmly. "We traced the address to the computer belonging to one Ms. Mercedes Jones."

A gasp escaped Quinn's throat, an expression of pure devastation and betrayal marring her otherwise exquisite features. "What—but—that can't be."

"Who's Mercedes Jones?" Sam asked.

The surface computer sprang to life, projecting a holographic profile and credentials of the accused suspect, and after a quick read, came to identify the woman as Quinn's colleague in the university.

"She joined the faculty six months after I did," the epigrapher explained ruefully. "When there was a vacant spot for a dig in Dalton VI, she was picked to join the team. We became close friends and we supported each other no matter what. A year later, I was promoted, and Figgins wanted me on the Rassilon Project. Mercedes and I had a falling out, but four months ago, I pulled her in, and we grew closer than ever. Everything was fine, until scribes started to go missing, and since she was in charge of cataloguing the inscriptions, it was only logical that Figgins held her responsible. Eventually, we found out that she had been sneaking the almanacs out and commissioning replicas to be sold in the black markets."

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "What happened, then?"

"Figgins had her fired, of course," she replied, but not without a slight tremble in her voice. "It wasn't pretty. She wouldn't accept it; had a lawyer sue the department for wrongful termination. The evidence that we had against her mysteriously disappeared and she was compensated."

"Torchwood has reason to believe that she is after the book," Director Schuester told them. "And since this is a top secret mission, we can only assume that someone from the inside is releasing classified information."

Quinn's head snapped up. "You mean a mole?"

"Until we can pinpoint the exact origin of the leak, we're taking all necessary precautions," the Director declared. "We've scanned your cellphone and computer for bugs. A chip had been fixed for added firewall. If anybody tries to hack into your system, the agency will be alerted."

"But—but I can't figure this out on my own," she protested. "My specialties do not include Gallifreyan geography and historical patterns, not to mention my limited knowledge on cosmology and astrophysics that seems to be a fascination among the Time Lords."

"Ms. Fabray," William began, slightly exasperated. "These five agents are remarkable men and they are tasked to aid you in any way possible to retrieve the book. Agent Chang has a Ph.D. in Quantum Mechanics, Agent Weston has linguistics background, and Agent Evans has extensive experience with the Kasterborous Constellations. Anything beyond that, unfortunately, we are unable to grant you."

"I understand," Quinn murmured idly.

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**10.04.2805, 0100hrs**_

She was still in the briefing room when he passed by on his way to the pantry for a cup of tea. A part of him admired her sheer determination, no matter how foolish he found her actions to be, running without sleep two nights in a row, and instinctively, he poured a mug for her as well.

"Hey."

After tearing her focus away from her work, she graced him with a polite smile. "Hey."

The table was a mess of papers and books with a three-dimensional holographic projection of the great Citadel—now in ruins—looming in high-definition detail. Sam took a seat on the swivel chair next to her, he waited as she jotted down the last of her train of thoughts before extending the beverage for her to take.

"You should really get some sleep," he said gruffly, noticing the dark circles underneath her intelligent hazel eyes.

She took a tentative sip and hummed in appreciation. "You're one to talk. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugged. "I always have a cup of tea before bed. It relaxes me."

"Thanks, though."

"You're welcome."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, both finishing up the drinks at hand, decompressing from the day. He reckoned he ought to catch what remaining hours he had left before his morning exercise, and was about to take his leave when something caught his attention. Under the jarring bright lights, he noticed the darkening bruise on her arm. She caught him staring for a moment and attempted to shield it from his view.

"No, don't," he breathed. Involuntarily, he reached out, his thumb tracing the patch of purple tainting the otherwise flawless skin, and grimaced guiltily. "Crap, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to—"

"I'm fine," she reassured. "It doesn't really hurt unless you press on it, honestly."

He forced his gaze up to meet hers and found himself momentarily stupefied when her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. The intensity at which he was studying her mouth should probably scare her, but instead of pulling away, he leaned in just a little bit more. She sucked in a sharp intake of air, quivering beneath his fingertips, and he wondered if he was imagining the subtle pressure of her hand on his knee. He shouldn't—was more than certain that he couldn't—but the urge to kiss her accosted him so fiercely, he shuddered against her when the tip of his nose brushed against the apple of her cheek.

Until she pulled away.

"Erm…" she mumbled, coughing awkwardly as she turned back to her papers. "I should get back to work—and—and you should, you know, get some sleep."

When the smoked cleared, a stab of disappointed was the only thing he felt—coupled with a side of shame—and he quelled the irrational part of himself that severely berated him for indulging in such baser desires.

"Yeah," he grated out, mechanically making his way out. "Good night, Quinn."

"Good night, Sam."

**Weep not for roads untraveled  
****Weep not for paths left alone  
****'Cause beyond every bend  
****Is a long blinding end  
****It's the worst kind of pain  
****I've known**

* * *

**A/N:** So, to reiterate my earlier point, the physics jargon, the places, they're all borrowed and made up. Nothing should make sense except for the skeletal fact that Sam is an agent and that Quinn is an epigrapher. Part 2 is on the way, and THA chapter 12 is still work-in-progress.

Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hi guys! So here it is: Part 2!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Roads Untraveled**

**Part 2**

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**10.04.2805, 0615hrs**_

She was told that he would be in the training chambers, but nobody had prepared her for the onslaught of bare skin and muscles openly displayed for her viewing pleasure, and her breath hitched in her throat. Later, she would deny ever been ogling his ripped body, but as he whipped around, sensing a presence, her eyes were still glued to his naked torso.

"Can I help you, Quinn?"

The tablet nearly slipped out of her grasp at the low tenor of his voice, and for the umpteenth time, she cursed her stupidity at denying herself the taste of his full lips—lips that were now curled up in a knowing smirk. Flustered that she had been caught red-handed, Quinn hastily tucked the stray strands of fringe behind her ear and squared her shoulders as he sauntered over.

"Erm, yeah," she said shakily, suppressing the delicious shiver that ran down her spine from the proximity alone. "But if you're busy, I can always come back later when you're—" she gulped inaudibly. "Ready."

"No, I'm good," he replied. "What's up?"

She willed herself to focus on anything but the droplet of sweat trailing down the contours of his abdominals. "I think I might have something, but I need your geographical opinion," she speared head-on before she lost any form of self-control. "The codex spoke of five separate coordinates. I've keyed them in, but the computer spouted out locations that didn't quite match up. I was thinking if you could have a look?"

He took the tablet from her and after a couple of taps on the screen, activated the hologram of Gallifrey. Red blinking dots indicated the locations of the respective coordinates that had baffled her the entire morning. It appeared to be at random, uninteresting spots of barren grounds. There wasn't a single landmark or architecture within a mile radius of each, and she was absolutely certain that her translations were correct; had in fact checked them multiple times for discrepancies.

"That's a bit odd indeed," he mused out loud as he examined the map from all angles and directions. "They don't even belong in the same cluster. That's the Ocean of Bal Soon over there, but other than that I can't really tell you anything else. The Kasterborous Constellation is made up of seventeen suns, and hate to break it to you, but Gallifrey wasn't exactly high on my priority list until now."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "How did you come to know about the Ocean of Bal Soon, then?"

**Give up your heart left broken  
****And let that mistake pass on  
****'Cause the love that you lost  
****Wasn't worth what it cost  
****And in time you'll be glad it's gone**

He hesitated, and when he spoke seconds later, his words took on a grim tone. "I lost my dad there. He was chasing a tracking signal on mauve alert and it led him straight to Gallifrey. As soon as he hit the atmosphere, his shield malfunctioned. There was a disturbance in the energy field, short-circuited his engines and he disappeared."

Speechless and more than a little honored that he had shared that bit of himself with her, Quinn interlaced her fingers through his and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry," she whispered empathetically.

"It's been eight years, but I can still remember the live transmission from his Pilot Box."

"Did they find—"

He shook his head. "No, nothing at all, but they found out what had caused the malfunctions. Timelines were constantly so in flux on Gallifrey, it interferes with frequencies and radio waves every zero point five milliseconds. At that rate, it would take more than a decade to locate the actual crash site; the military couldn't afford the time and resource."

"That's awful—"

Something clicked in her mind.

"Wait, the timelines," she paused, calculating its implications. "There was a mention of its flux patterns in the codex!"

The pair exchanged glances.

"I'll go get the others," Sam informed her. "Maybe Mike can help shed some light on that subject. We'll conjugate in the briefing room."

"Roger that."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**10.04.2805, 0800hrs**_

"Flux patterns; also known as fluctuation intervals," Mike recited as easily as one would read the ingredients on the box of cereal. "They differ with each planet; for example, New Earth has an infinite temporal flux with at least six accessible dimensions in the space-time continuum—twenty times its gravity and sixteen times faster than its rotation—but we just don't feel it because we're integral to the patterns."

"Dumb it down, Chang," Finn grumbled. "Can't understand a fucking word you're saying."

The other agent rolled his eyes. "Basically, what this means is that even with such a speed, our flux patterns are slower than that on Gallifrey. It would explain the disturbances on radio frequencies and equipment malfunction."

"But scientists have known that for years," Quinn pointed out. "That's why Void Pods were built. It's how we've been traveling to the ruins."

"And it still doesn't explain its significance to the coordinates," Sam chimed in.

Agent Mike Chang rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "Your coordinates are based on the Gallifreyan mathematical system. Using the coordinates point blank would mean nothing but off-kilter locations. You need to take the difference in our fluctuation intervals and recalibrate the Galaxy Positioning System."

Sam knew the exact moment it dawned on everybody.

"And if my calculations are correct," the Quantum Mechanics expert continued, tapping rapidly away on his tablet. "The new coordinates will be in—"

A pulsing red dot appeared on the holographic map.

"Arcadia."

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**11.04.2805, 1750hrs**_

With a punctuated tap on the keypad, Quinn hit the option to update her work. Stretching her arms over her head, she watched in satisfaction as color steadily filled the progress bar. Ever since Mike's breakthrough insight on mathematical calculations, the team had been working tirelessly deciphering as much of the codex as possible. It left her mentally drained and as the adrenalin wore off, she felt her eyes droop from exhaustion.

A quick nap would do her good, she reckoned.

The alarm blared, signaling a breech in security with an issued warning on the computer screen and an immediate termination of the file upload. Startled and nearly falling off the chair, she bolted upright to run diagnostics on the system, only to be thwarted when Sam Evans barged into the room, his face pinched with concern and lips pressed in a thin line.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

"Someone is attempting to hack into the system," he brusquely told her. "The Director wants to see us in the briefing room. Pronto."

In a mad scramble, Quinn gathered her belongings, unceremoniously dumping her books and papers into her satchel and followed after the agent, sprinting down the corridors. Team One had already gathered around the circular table when they arrived, and not long after, Director Schuester marched purposefully in with a crazed-looking assistant in his wake.

"We're running out of time," was the first thing out of his mouth. "Our security department has been fighting off hackers and viruses for the past two days, I'm afraid our firewall isn't as impenetrable as we think. Somebody had successfully breeched the system, but we've managed to intercept it before any data was lost."

Quinn felt her blood run cold. "What about my files?"

"They're safe," he reassured her. "But we're initiating Code Black."

She looked to the others in the room. "What's Code Black?"

Sam took a step forward, his arms folded across his broad chest. "Code Black is a camouflage that allows for us to fall off the radar completely."

Unperturbed, she mirrored his stance. "And what does that mean exactly?"

"We're going to blow up a spaceship."

* * *

_**Pisces-Cetus Supercluster Complex, Kasterborous Constellation  
**__**12.04.2805, 1500hrs (New Earth)**_

Sam activated the quantum force fields as The Penetrator was set to orbit around one of Gallifrey's suns. After checking that the temperature regulators were in place, he made his way to the front of the flight deck to check on his team. Puck was in the pilot's seat, Brody assisting him with calculations while Finn kept an eye on path circles. Beyond the viewing panels, the darkness of outer space consumed them.

"What's our ETA, Puck?"

"Twenty-three minutes to Void Pods drop zone," the Mohawk agent replied.

Sam nodded. "All right. Mike, give me a status report on the pods. Are they ready?"

"They're good and cleared for the plunge, Sam," came a reply through the speakers.

"Quinn, I want you to get suited up," he ordered. "I'll meet you down at the launch deck in five."

The female epigrapher had already donned half of the gear when he reached to greet her with the rest of his gadgets, but she seemed to be struggling with the thickly padded vest. When he approached to lend a hand, she sighed in relief, a grateful smile on her face.

"It's a bit too tight," he pointed out. "You're going to suffocate to death."

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled with a bit of a hop as she tried to reach for the fastening. "But I can't—could you loosen the back—"

Wordlessly, he circled behind her and gave the deadlock strap a hard tug, releasing the catch and allowing for the body armor to slide easily down her torso. When she was comfortable with the fitting, he promptly tightened the Velcro that secured her sides before physically rotating her body so that he could work on the front. He made sure that her wires weren't exposed, that she wouldn't risk getting them tangled during the bumpy landing. So engrossed he was in the task that he didn't realize his fingers unintentionally brush over her ample chest, until her breathy gasp caused his muscles to freeze.

Seconds felt like eternity as he summoned the courage to meet her stunning hazel eyes.

"Erm…I—I—" He flushed a deep shade of crimson, realizing that he was stammering like a bleeding idiot. "How—does it—does it fit okay now?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "It's fine."

"Okay, then, that's good," he babbled on. "Well, that vest is thermal-regulated, so in any case that the pod burns up and the temperature gauge malfunctions, it will collect your vitals and do an automatic override manual that activates the cooling system."

"Great. Perfect."

After that, his touches were more tentative, his nerves more aware of every placement. When he assisted in slipping her arms into the sleeves of her black protective suit, he became so cautious, it felt like he was in kindergarten just learning about girls and cooties. His reactions were utterly ridiculous. For her part, Quinn appeared completely calm and composed, seemingly unaffected by the way he was tiptoeing around her.

"And this is your very own wrist monitor," he said, brandishing an object she was familiar with. "It has an in-built tracker, of course, and the basic data storage. Your files have been uploaded into the device and you can access information to any member of the team."

He observed as she gave it a quick test drive, experimenting with the different functions.

"When you're down there, this vest camouflages your body's thermal reading so that you won't be detected," he further explained, shifting closer to demonstrate its uses, once again bringing them in dangerously close proximity. "Also, it has been programmed to identify our DNA signatures. It'll give you stats on each member; for example, you'd know if one of us are indispensable or otherwise severely injured or dead."

She paled at the thought.

"It's just a precaution," he rushed to add in. "Nobody has died on my watch, I promise."

"Good to know," she murmured, hooking the earpiece in place. "Do you have a spare battery pack?"

"It's solar-powered."

"Glad that Torchwood is doing its part to save the environment," she teased with a coquettish tongue-touched grin.

"We do what we can," he quipped, giving her a playful wink.

Puck's voice cackled over the intercoms.

"Ten minutes to drop zone."

"You ready?" Sam asked her with an arch of his eyebrow.

"Let's do this."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**12.04.2805, 1535hrs (New Earth)**_

The drop was a fucking bitch. She cursed the day that Vortex Manipulators were banned on eighteen different planets as she felt as if her body was being torn apart in every foreseeable way. Eyes tightly shut, she fought against the vertigo spinning in her head, grinding her teeth together in an effort to stay conscious. Vaguely, she was aware of someone's frantic voice in her ear, but as she opened her mouth, the words were being swallowed by her desperate gasps.

Temperatures rose in the tiny pod, heating up the air inside the tiny pod like a damn oven. Perspiration trickled down the side of her cheek and blurred her vision. She blinked them away and stole a quick glimpse at the gauge as it flashed a critical warning. Instinct screamed for her to hit the eject button, knowing that it was her last resort if all else failed. In a moment of panicked resolve, she wrapped her fingers around the lever and winced, snatching her hand back as the scorching metal seared through her skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Just when she feared she would be human roast, the cooling system kicked in.

And then the countdown began. The five-point harness kept her properly bound to the jump seat, but even then, she clutched onto anything she could for purchase and braced for impact. It came with a force of a speeding comet, and then everything spun out of control as she clung on for dear life. In the mad spiral, she found the handbrakes and effectively deployed the parachute. It was a full minute of slow rolling until eventually the pod came to a complete stop.

"Mother of God—"

"You all right, there, Quinn?"

She hungrily inhaled in gulps of air, hoping to will away the mounting nausea. "Yeah, Sam, I'm good."

"Okay, then, I'll see you later."

"Not if I see you first."

Unbuckling her restraints, Quinn spent a couple of seconds engaging in some deep breathing exercises before pulling herself together and crawling out of the tiny door.

The familiar smell of dry sand and dirt was like a warm welcome home. No matter how many times she'd visited Gallifrey, she didn't ever get tired of its beauty. The array of vibrant colors that she was greeted with—rocks and patches of grass that were shades of red, brown, purple and gold—never failed to astound her every single time. Trees that bore bright silver leaves; and just over the horizon, vast mountains shone white in the sunlight—endearingly referred to as 'a forest on fire'—but she knew, beyond that stunning beauty were the dreadful wastelands.

A deafening crack ripped her attention away from the scenery, and as she gazed up at the burnt orange sky, another explosion boomed resonantly with an echo that spanned a hundred light years. A cloud of ashen smoke gathered, and she watched as it created a ball of plasma that expanded and anti-climatically faded away. Her earpiece screeched from the electromagnetic pulses. Wincing from the piercing frequency, she automatically ripped it off.

Her wrist monitor started beeping then, and picked up on Mike's DNA signature five miles away. A beat later, Puck's stats sprang up not far from where she was, followed closely by Finn's and Brody's.

"Come on, Sam," she urged quietly. "Where are you?"

He appeared, then, a thermal silhouette a hundred yards away, and she slipped her earpiece back on.

"Alright team," his deep voice spoke smoothly. "Congratulations on surviving that wretched trip. Officially, we're all dead and nothing but particles in deep space, but down here, we still have an important mission to accomplish. Gather your gear and we'll meet at an intersection thirteen degrees north."

Quinn ducked back into the Void Pod to retrieve her belongings, grimacing at the blister forming across her palm. Fishing out a clean sock from her backpack, she gingerly wrapped it over the swell before slinging her satchel over a shoulder. Double-checking on the coordinates that Sam had sent through, she swiftly determined her direction and began walking.

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**12.04.2805, 1810hrs (New Earth)**_

They set up camp in a little nook out of sight, sitting in a ring around a portable heater. Nights were frigid in Gallifrey but building a fire was out of the equation. Years of field training and survival tests had made the agents tolerable to the cold, though they couldn't share the sentiment with the only female in the group.

Since they were sleeping in shifts, Sam had volunteered to take on the grueling eight hours that nobody else really wanted.

Snuggled up in a thermal-regulating sleeping bag with her vest and protective suit still on, he couldn't help but stare. Her brows were furrowed, hazel eyes glued to her work as she furiously jotted down notes in her journal. A piece of cloth caught his attention, and it was only then did he notice her bandaged hand and wondered why his wrist monitor hadn't picked up on that during the full-body scan.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

She blinked, as though she hadn't realized that he'd been sitting there all along, and in a confused daze, tilted her head questioningly. He gestured to her wrapped-up wound and repeated himself.

"Oh," she hesitated. "Well, it was stupid. I held onto the eject lever by accident and kind of, you know, scalded myself."

He frowned, failing to understand why she hadn't informed him of it earlier.

"But I'm fine, really," she blurted out, mistaking his sour look for something else. "It just stings a bit, but other than that, I'm perfectly fine."

"Come here," he muttered. "Let me have a look at it."

"No, really—" she protested.

"Don't fight me on this, Quinn," he sighed exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just let me have a look."

She shuffled over, albeit reluctantly, and lowered herself down in front of him, knees drawn to her chest as she timidly held her injured hand out for his full inspection. Delicately, he cradled it and released the knot that kept the sock together.

Sam exhaled a ragged breath as she ruefully gnawed on her bottom lip. A grisly red blister was stretched out across the small span of her palm, a nasty thing that looked so out of place against her silky smooth skin. She flexed her fingers, uncomfortable under his close scrutiny, and it jolted him out of his stupor. Reaching into the side pocket of his trousers, Sam pulled out a small cylindrical container. He popped the lid open and poured its contents over the angry welt. Miniscule glowing specks buzzed around for a moment before locating their targets.

"What are those?" Quinn asked, staring in amazement at the particles swarming around her hand. She giggled, then. "It kind of tickles."

He grinned at her reaction. "They're Nanogenes," he explained. "Subatomic robots used for healing superficial wounds."

"That's incredible," she exclaimed when the atoms dispersed back into the canister and her skin was left without a single scratch or scar. "Why aren't they using Nanogenes in clinics and hospitals?"

"They will soon," he nodded. "Torchwood gets first dibs on all the technology before they hit the markets."

"Well, thanks, again," she said with one of her trademark radiant smiles. "That was a rather neat trick."

"You're welcome. Again."

A minute passed, and then two, the silence and occasional stray sounds of the howling wind between them. He found himself stealing glimpses over at her profile, the straight slope of her nose, the angle of her jaw, the length of her lashes, and when his gaze landed on the swell of her mouth, the urge to take her in his arms and snog her senseless was so strong, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block the images away.

The effort was fruitless.

And then he felt it; barely there, a whisper of a caress as those lips he so vividly dreamt of each night brushed against his in startling clarity. He tried to dismiss it, unable to stomach the disappointment if reality came crashing down and she hadn't indeed just kissed him, but he knew he couldn't have imagined it the second time. It was firmer, more certain, and he allowed himself to finally indulge in his desires. Fingers threaded through her soft tresses, now free of her hair tie as she whimpered. A low rumble escaped his chest—a groan he might be mildly embarrassed about—and then she was pulling away.

"Sam…" she trailed off uncertainly until he dared to lift his eyelids, her face a scant of breath away. "Is this—is this going to make things awkward?"

That was a valid question.

"I—I hope not."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, 'cause I'd very much like to do that again."

A smile bloomed on her gorgeous face that could rival that of the most beautiful sunrise.

"We should probably wait till this is all over, though," she suggested, albeit reluctantly. "You know, for posterity's sake."

"Oh, yeah, of course," he cleared his throat. "You're right. We should…wait."

She turned, sitting primly with her hands on her knees, and once again, the lull of the night engulfed them. Sam stiffly rubbed the nape of his neck, trying to dispel the tension now knotted at the tip of his spine.

"Although…"

A smirk stretched across her features. "Although?"

"We have a good six hours before the others wake up."

Quinn laughed, a musical tinkling sound.

"Don't even think about it."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 0700hrs (New Earth)**_

"So now that we're here, what exactly are we looking for," Puck spoke up during breakfast, chewing on a piece of granola bar. "How are we going to find the Book of Rassilon?"

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk about it so blatantly," Mike piped in. "You'd never know who's listening. There could be bugs planted everywhere in this planet, we can't risk a chance."

"You're right," Sam agreed, capping his bottle of water. "We need a codename."

"Let's call is Hummel's Holy Grail," Quinn quipped, an inflection of mischief in her voice.

"What?" Finn snickered. "Why?"

The female epigrapher actually rolled her eyes. "It's not much of code, really. Burt Hummel was a space explorer. Some two hundred years ago, he discovered the great civilization of the Time Lords. He sparked an epic evolution in archaeological history, and though he might not have known about the book back then, I would think finding it would have been his greatest achievement."

"Hummel's Holy Grail it is, then," Brody decided with a clap of his hands.

"Still doesn't answer my other question," Puck sighed, never one for being patient or ignored. "How are we going to find it?"

Quinn reached into her satchel and produced her trusted journal, flipping through the pages until she came to what she was looking for. Almost simultaneously, all five agents crowded around her for a better view. Amused, she turned her eyes to Sam, who was trying his best not to glare at his fellow men.

"The coordinates point to five locations, each fifty miles apart," she began, and using her wrist monitor, projected a hologram of the topographical map of Arcadia. Red dots blinked to signify the specific areas. "Only problem is, there's nothing but flat land within a hundred-mile radius; no architecture, no ruins."

"What about the scribes?" Mike asked, keenly studying the notes made in her book. "Anything in there to suggest a more specific coordinate?"

"Unfortunately, that's about it," she revealed in chagrin. "I've begun translating the second volume, but the first few pages were explicitly precise directions—six feet ten degrees south, eight feet twenty degrees west—that only led to a blank wall. Literally, that was the exact translation and I'm still not sure what to make of it, honestly. There was no mention about where those directions originate or start."

The group spent some time pondering on her words.

"Could those five coordinates possibly be markers?" Sam mulled over, looking thoughtful.

"You mean, like the one from the Enigma-3 heist?" Brody chimed in.

Quinn squinted at them, clearly confused. "I don't follow."

"A couple of years ago, we were on a mission on Enigma-3 to stop a religious group responsible for the heists around the Highland Continent," Sam explained, somewhat nostalgically, if the slight grin on his boyish face was anything to go by. "Their target sites were sporadic locations that made no sense, so it was nearly impossible to predict where they might strike next, until Mike identified a pattern: that the order of each heist corresponded with something of significance, and when they're joined together, created The Seno, a symbol of their religion."

"So what you're saying is—"

"Perhaps those five coordinates correspond with Time Lord history or a Gallifreyan hieroglyph," he finished.

Quinn snapped her fingers. "Circular Gallifreyan."

Twenty minutes later, she had it cracked.

"Boys, set your coordinates. I think I've found it."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 0920hrs (New Earth)**_

Two hours of trekking later, they emerged over a dune and stared down at the shallow crater surrounded by sharp, pointed ridges. It was an unfortunate sight as she imagined the once-bustling civilization, wondering it they had probably used the grounds for recreational activities or some other Time Lord games, now lay in an empty pit of rocks and dust.

"Is that it?" Puck remarked skeptically.

Quinn nodded mutely.

"Doesn't look like much," Finn commented, checking on his wrist monitor for confirmation. "Are you sure this is it?"

"You are welcome to check the codex for yourself if you want," she retorted, peeling the sleeves of her protective suit off and tying a knot around her waist. With the sun directly overhead—during one of Galliefrey's hottest season—and beating down mercilessly, it felt like a global meltdown in Arcadia. It was starting to make her cranky.

"I'm just saying—"

"All right, Finn, that's enough," Sam cut in before the guy could spout out anything that would further offend her intelligence. "The only way to know for sure is if we go down there, so let's just keep our opinions to ourselves until then, shall we?"

The slopes leading down to the crater was steep and the only way to descend was through rappelling. Sam grinned lopsidedly down at her as he tightened the gate on her carabiner and ensured that the ropes were properly secured. He gave a few experimental tugs, and when he was done, his hands lingered at the sides of her ribcage, his thumbs lightly brushing the underside of her breasts.

"What is it?"

"You do realize that Finn's a bit of an idiot, right?" he chuckled.

"I knew that the first three minutes I saw him," she replied cheekily. "But I also know that he's harmless, so you really didn't have to worry about him hurting my feelings. I get that a lot, being one of a small handful of women in the archaeological field."

"You're brilliant, though, you know?"

Her tongue peeked out between her teeth. "I do."

Before she was able to register anything else, however, he had dropped a chaste peck on her lips and had scampered off to check on his own equipment. The small gesture caused an unmentionable amount of fluttering in the pit of her stomach, the unexpectedness of it sending a sudden rush of blood up to her cheeks.

"He's going to be the death of me."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1100hrs (New Earth)**_

Their technical equipment started malfunctioning almost immediately as they set foot on the base of the crater. All of their wrist monitors were acting up, beeping and receiving a disturbance in frequency. Mike reckoned it was due to residual pulses in the area from excessive use of Vortex Manipulators or quantum force fields. While everybody else attempted to salvage their pieces of technology, Sam observed with interest as Quinn kept her eyes trained on the ground, dragging her boots back and forth as she swept the rubble aside in search of something. Intrigued, he walked up to her.

"What are you looking for?"

"Hieroglyphs," she answered distractedly.

"Okay, so circles and lines, then?"

Her laughter was sheer bliss to his ears. "Yeah, circles and lines."

"Is it any type of circle and lines or a specific one?" Puck called out from a few feet away. "Because there's a group of four of those stacked up on top of one another over here."

Sam and Quinn raced over.

"That's it! That's the one!"

* * *

**A/N:** There we go! End of part 2! It's going to be a bit more action-packed in the next update, and this is where the fun adventure begins. LOL! This actually reminds me of the times when I wrote Whisper in my Ear, actually.

**NileyOvergron:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad that you like the story so far, especially since it's a whole different genre from what I'm usually used to writing. Just thought I'd exercise my geeky side a bit and see what I can come up with. The next chapter of THA is still work-in-progress. Each update actually takes a bit more time because the style of writing is a bit more difficult. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**ReadingFanfiction13:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad the genre interests you! I've always had a geeky side that I sort of try and stifle every time I write, but I reckon now is a good time to unleash my inner nerd and indulge in myself just this once. I had initially thought to write a full story like the one I did for Whisper in my Ear, but sci-fi is actually a really tough genre to write, and when I started halfway on the first part, I knew I just didn't have enough knowledge to support it, so I decided on a compromise and settled for a 4-parter. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**OhHeyAl:** Hi there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate it, capital letters and all! I'm glad that there are fellow nerds out there sharing an interest in sci-fi as I do because it's so tough to write. Frankly, I have no idea how people write for Star Trek and Doctor Who. It's like writing in a different language. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! OMG, you're too cute! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing with such wonderful comments even though it's a lot more difficult to imagine and understand. Honestly, you don't really need to know the technicalities of the story because they're jargon words that mean nothing most of the time. The gist is that Sam is a secret agent and Quinn is an epigrapher, and they're on an alien planet to find an ancient book before someone else gets it; kind of like The Mummy, actually. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a wonderful review! I really appreciate it! Well, you don't really need to watch Doctor Who to grab the basic gist of the story, of course. The Doctor Who bits were just an added bonus to satisfy my geeky side. LOL! Things between Sam and Quinn are definitely moving along, and things will get pretty interesting soon! Cheers!

**Guest:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the first part of the story! Sam and Quinn will always be magnetically drawn to each other in my point of view, no matter what story it is.

Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Hi guys! So here it is; part 3! I won't be able to update so often, though, because I have a lot of stuff on my plate and work is a little hectic. I'll do the best I can, but I apologize beforehand if I don't update fast enough!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Roads Untraveled**

**Part 3**

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1130hrs (New Earth)**_

"Loosely translated, these four hieroglyphs mean 'the point of beginning'," Quinn explained, tracing her fingers over the circular Gallifreyan symbols.

Finn arched an eyebrow. "Loosely translated?"

"Unlike other hieroglyphs that usually comprises of logograms and complemented by a set of syllabic glyphs, the Circular Gallifreyan writing system comprises of pure syllables and moras," she proceeded on to elaborate, gesturing animatedly with her hands in an attempt to aid her running commentary, not that it helped much because she had four sets of eyes staring blankly back at her.

It was Brody to the rescue.

"A mora is a unit in phonology that determines syllable weight," he began, exercising his linguistic qualifications. "An English word is usually a coda, comprising of a consonant and a vowel, and thus represents a mora. In simpler terms, they're basically sounds."

"Exactly," the epigrapher nodded, visibly impressed. "Now, that's easy enough to decode. The only problem is that these Circular Gallifreyan are not in the English language. And without any logograms for reference, translating Time Lord scribes is a tricky business. We can only rely on the almanacs and our inference skills."

"And you're sure those symbols mean 'the starting point'?" Puck asked.

She grimaced. "Not really. It could be that or 'proceed beyond the horizon'."

"Well, that's helpful," Mike muttered. "What do we do now?"

Quinn smirked and once again pulled out her trusted journal, optimistically waving it in the air. "Now, we follow the directions."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1300hrs (New Earth)**_

They came to a halt in front of a wall; a dead end in a tiny crook between two boulders. The sun was positively sweltering, beaming down as though mocking them with its unbearable heat. Sam's T-shirt was now stuck to his back, is torso entirely drenched, and his blonde hair matted to his forehead and dripping sweat down the nape of his neck.

"What do we do now, Quinn?" he asked, propping his foot up on a stray rock. "Did we miss a turn or head in the wrong direction?"

Her nose was buried deep in her journal, a contemplative look on her face. "No, we're right where we're supposed to be and nothing else. I think I'll need to get started on translating the third volume."

"All right, then," Sam declared, turning to his men. "The rest of us will scour the perimeter, establish a baseline and do a quick sweep for threats. We can never be too careful. With our equipment malfunctioning, I don't trust that we're entirely safe. Something's telling me that it's not the planet's force fields that are causing the disturbances in frequencies. Brody, you're going to be Quinn's number two."

As the group dispersed, Sam gained some leverage on higher grounds. He scanned the terrain for anything that was amiss when all of a sudden, his wrist monitor began emitting a shrill, piercing beep. Brows furrowing, he glanced down at it, only to receive distorted images and a screen of static. And then he heard a sound that sent a chill up his spine.

He blinked up at the sky in time to see a ball of light break through the atmosphere and soar across with a trail of white smoke in its wake. Two more similar anomalies followed closely behind, a sight he was so attuned to, there was no mistaking what those unidentified objects were.

"Fuck," he hissed, spitting the words out like vermin as he sprinted back to base. "Motherfuckers."

Puck rounded on him halfway, having witnessed the intrusion as well, and Sam had him find the others while he went back for Quinn and Brody. Upon noticing his distress, they immediately shot to their feet.

"What's wrong?" she demanded to know, shoving papers haphazardly into her satchel.

He revealed nothing until his three other men were present.

"We're being compromised," Sam informed then as calmly as possible, and by the look on each of their faces, he knew that they were aware of it too. "Someone knows that we're here. My hunch is that they're intersecting our frequencies and sabotaging our equipment. We can't stay here; they'll just track us down. We also need to keep our communication to a minimal—the lesser we talk, the better—because our words are ammo for them."

"Do you know who they are?" Quinn whispered.

"It could be anybody and everybody in the whole freaking galaxy who wants to get their hands on our Holy Grail," Puck growled.

"Either way, it doesn't matter," Sam interjected tersely. "We need to get out of here before they could fix on our coordinates."

"I thought you said that our vests are able to camouflage our body's heat signatures?"

He turned to the female epigrapher, unleashing the full potential of his stunning green eyes. "Thermal scanning is not the only way to detect a person, Quinn." She swallowed hard, a flash of worry clouding her otherwise ethereal features, and he had to resist the urge to take her in his arms and protect her from harm's way. However, his duty as an agent was a first priority. Doing his job would ensure her safety. "So listen up, team. As of now, I want you to switch off each and every device that you carry. We need zero transmission of anything. The slightest emission of wavelengths could cost us in this mission."

When that was done, they began heading north-west, intentionally navigating through some tougher turfs as Finn did the important job of covering their footprints. Ten miles out, they stopped at a clearing, and as Sam surveyed the area, Quinn took the opportunity to continue with the tedious task of translating the rest of the fifteen pages.

"All right, here's what we're going to do," he announced. "We're going to split up."

Quinn bristled at his absurd plan, jumping to her feet and allowing the journal to tumble off her lap. "What? No fucking way, Sam."

"We have to," he spoke with a firmness of a team leader. "You and Brody are to stay here. The rest of us are going to scout the ships that have landed. If we can take them down, we will, or at least we'll buy you some time to figure out the rest of the codex. We'll distract them and lure them away. Brody, you're her cover; no matter what happens, you protect her. If we don't make it back in time, go ahead without us, understood?"

"That's the worse idea I've ever heard," Quinn spat out heatedly. "You're just feeding yourselves to the alligators."

"Quinn, trust me," he said with an impressive amount of patience considering the situation at hand. "We're highly skilled agents. We've been on more missions that you've set foot on Gallifrey; it's not going to be a problem."

"Why can't we just wait it out and see what happens?" she appealed. "That way, nobody goes and gets themselves unnecessarily killed."

His hand shot out reflexively to grab her forearm. "It'll be too late. Besides, nobody dies on my watch, remember?"

"But can't you just—"

He silenced her with a kiss instead—altogether disregarding public decorum, much to the amusement of his men—and effectively left her dazed and flustered. She tasted like honey and granola and everything about the barren land mixed into one, and he couldn't get enough. It took everything in his will to pull away, and when he did, the image of her chasing after his lips nearly undid him. The only thing stopping him from pulling her back in his arms and snogging her senseless was the sound of Finn pointedly clearing his throat.

"I'll see you soon," he murmured.

Her sweet breath came in warm puffs against his cheek as she turned to whisper in his ear.

"Not if I see you first."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1635hrs (New Earth)**_

"So," Brody began, attempting to sound casual, and Quinn stiffened slightly, realizing what he was about to say even before he said it. "You and Sam, huh?"

Using the oldest trick in the book—dirty shot or not—she feigned ignorance and continued scribbling notes in her journal. "I don't know what you're talking about, Weston."

He chuckled, ruffling the back of his copper-colored hair. "You're seriously going to sit there and play that card on me?"

She heaved a sigh and finally glanced up at him. "Yes, because it's none of your business, or anyone else's for that matter."

"Hate to break it to you, Fabray, but it kind of is."

"Oh, yeah?"

He nodded and gave her an empathetic smile. "As field agents, we were trained not to be too emotionally attached to our missions, and that includes the people we interact with and the places we go to; you see where I'm going with this, don't you?"

The weight of his words crashed down on her, at the implications of the complexity in her involvement with Agent Sam Evans, and though she didn't want to admit it, he was completely right. She could chalk it up on temporary insanity all she wanted—moral support during a stressful situation, if she could so much as fool herself to believe it—but the truth of the reality was that establishing a proximity at that moment could jeopardize everything that they came to Gallifrey for. Emotional entanglements would only make things harder for everybody.

"Sam and I are not involved," she mumbled, unsure whom she was really trying to convince. "We're not like that."

"Well, that kiss earlier kind of disproved what you just told me."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1650hrs (New Earth)**_

"They couldn't have landed too far off from where we did," Sam surmised, his voice biting and tight as he vigilantly kept his watchful gaze ahead of him. His guards were up, and with each calculated step, he grew more leery of the intruders. "Chances are, they've tracked our Void Pods and are checking it out for traces and stray signals."

"I have a bad feeling about this, Sam," Mike hissed closely behind him.

"I'm not chuffed about this either," the team leader growled, keeping his grip firm on the mini sonic blaster in his hand. "But if we can keep those motherfuckers occupied with us and throw them off Quinn and Brody's trail, at least it would slow them down."

A wide grin spread across Puck's face, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "We should totally snag some of their weapons and ammo, and if we're lucky maybe we'll even find a sweet ride to hitch on."

Finn glared at him. "Not a priority, Puckerman."

Sam spotted streams of white smoke rising from over the shallow plateau. He turned to the geographical field specialist for his expert opinion, and after Finn's nod of approval, they made the swift ascend up to the flat bed of rocks, darting in between the huge boulders for a proper vantage point. From where they were crouched, hidden and loosely camouflaged by the charred remains of some trees, they had a clear view of their interlopers.

"Three Void Ships from what I can see," Mike noted, craning his neck. "Fifteen to twenty people at least; they seem to be setting up base."

"Damn, Brody has the binoculars," Sam groused, miffed that nothing seemed to be going according to plan. It was, after all, supposed to be an easy mission. "Anybody has a spare?"

"That's a negative, dude," Puck replied.

"I have a Topo Ranger, if that helps," Finn offered, fishing a hand-held gadget from his thigh holster. "Minimal zoom and it'll just look like a bunch of lines to you but it calculates distance to the millimeter."

"It'll do."

Through the singular viewfinder, Sam was able to access the ballgame. He wasn't able to identify anybody, but he was certain the scornful-looking woman standing in the epicenter of it all with an intimidating scowl on her face was a key figure, as people scrambled fearfully around her. She had short-cropped blonde hair and a questionable choice in fashion for wearing a cherry red tracksuit and trainers. He took note of the academics and the bodyguards, analyzing their wit and firepower.

"A matriarch, her minions and her henchmen," he smirked. "That's just a classic, isn't it?"

"Any idea who she is?" Mike asked.

"Not a fucking clue," Sam said, until a sight caused him to freeze. "Shit, that's Mercedes Jones."

"Minion or henchman?" Puck questioned with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Sam observed the two women's interactions, noticing their similar air of authority. "I'd say that she's the co-matriarch."

Finn let out a long groan. "God, I hate those. One bitchy hussy intent on ruling the world is bad enough without a second one."

"I don't think they're actually planning to rule the world, Finn," Puck retorted sarcastically.

"What else do they have, Sam?" Mike enquired with his brows furrowed.

Sam did another quick sweep. "I'm seeing a couple of K-9s. That's going to be a fucking nightmare to deal with. They're slow-moving robots, but they can sniff you out like a damn Doberman."

"K-9s are black market shit," Puck snorted. "We can have them arrested just on illegal accounts alone."

All of a sudden, something whizzed by in front of his lens. He blinked, and then he was staring straight at a spherical object hovering in the sky, a laser grid pointing directly at them.

"Oh, fuck," he breathed. "Air Drones."

"Don't move a single muscle," Mike uttered through gritted teeth as the self-piloted object zeroed in on their location.

With bated breaths, the four men watched as the laser net grazed achingly slow over their heads. Sam pressed his lips into a thin line; his hands gripping Topo Ranger so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.

It was a good ten seconds later, after the drone had long buzzed off, that the agents simultaneously exhaled.

"Fucking hell," Finn croaked. "So what's the next plan of action, then, Sam?"

He grinned.

"We wait till sundown."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1800hrs (New Earth)**_

"I've got it!"

Brody, who was on the verge of dozing off, positively jumped at her outburst, narrowly falling off the rock that he had been perching on. Quinn, who had witnessed the entire ordeal—and felt for his bruised dignity—tried her best to stifle her laughter.

"You okay there, buddy?" she snickered.

He frowned as he dusted himself off. "Just peachy. Why are you trying to give me a heart attack, anyway?"

"I've figured it out," she gurgled excitedly. "Damn those Time Lords for being such a long-winded bunch, but the last five pages were all I needed." Practically shoving the journal into his chest, Quinn directed him to a clause of ten characters. "Right here—where the Time Lords were usually rather literal with their descriptions—this bit speaks of a riddle."

"Points to one, then points to another," Brody read her translations aloud. "Looks can be deceiving. Huh, that character spells two words? Really?"

Quinn scoffed and snatched the book back from his hands. "All of that and the one thing that stood out to you were the grammar and not the semantics?"

"Right, you're right," he sobered up. "'Looks can be deceiving' could be referring to the wall that we came across earlier. It could be something that we couldn't see or perhaps there's a perception filter placed on it."

She snapped her journal shut. "We need to go back there."

"What? Why?"

Rolling her eyes, Quinn refrained from sighing again. "Because we need to look for whatever it is that we're not seeing."

"Did you just hear yourself?" he countered. "We have no idea what we're going to be looking for. We could be stuck there for hours and not find anything, and we won't have any back up in the case that someone tracks us down. Sam would slay me alive just for considering your idea."

Her patience was fast thinning into miniscule atoms in the air. "He also said to go on without them if we find something before they do. Going back there is the only way and you know that."

She could tell that he was fighting an internal battle with his conscience and in a desperate attempt, she stuck her bottom lip out and gave him her best puppy-dog look, eyelashes fluttering for full effect, and she noticed the instant his resolve crumbled and his shoulders sagged in defeat. It was convenient times like these that she thoroughly enjoyed being a woman.

"Okay, fine," he relented. "But if I end up with Sam on my ass, you'll have to answer to it."

"Sure, I promise."

They were packing up their gear and double-checking the surroundings when he came up with the idea that they should probably leave an indication of their whereabouts, in case the other lads were to show up and panic over finding them missing. Nothing too forward, perhaps a coded message—preferably not in Circular Gallifreyan—and then Brody was wielding a sonic flashlight and carving light indents on the rock that they had been sitting on.

"You think they'll figure it out?" she wondered.

"Absolutely. Let's go."

It took a considerably lesser amount of time to head back to the aforementioned wall but the sun was already starting to set, casting the reddish sky into a darker shade of maroon, and bathing the rocky landscape in a rather morbid scene. Shadows of sharp-edged ridges protruded out like daggers from the ground, and the place looked like a death trap.

"Do you have the Infrared Goggles with you?" he asked when it became apparent that visibility was going to be a problem.

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, now is a good time to put it on."

"Can't we just use your sonic flashlight or something?"

He wrinkled his nose in objection. "And risk detection?"

The contraption was a little too big and heavy on her, and as she strapped it around her head, it became a chore to adjust it every single time it slipped down the bridge of her nose. Brody was none too helpful about that; he seemed to find her troubles entertaining, if anything at all. With her vision aided with greens and blacks, it became slightly easier to navigate through the harsh slabs of rocks.

She didn't notice anything different the second time round, not even with the state-of-the-art equipment, and she began to feel the weight of anxiousness settle in the depths of her gut.

"We'll just have to search for an opening," she murmured, running her hands gingerly over the slab of stone. "If there is indeed a perception filter placed on this wall, then we need to find a way to deactivate it."

"Why couldn't the Time Lords have made it easier?" Brody grumbled as he combed the bottom corners. "Place a signage or a button or an obvious lever for a trap door or something—"

"Wait, trap door," Quinn whispered, and then she was down on her hands and knees, sweeping away rubble and dirt with a newfound gusto that matched the warmth of her revelation.

"What are you doing?"

She was getting grime underneath her fingernails and her trousers were soiled, but those were the least of her worries. "Remember those hieroglyphs we saw on the ground?"

He sank down next to her and barely hesitated before he too was brushing aside gravel and sand. "Yeah, what about them?"

"They weren't on a wall."

Brody paused in his movements for a second, and when it was clear he understood, his efforts redoubled, scraping through the soil with enthusiastic fervor. A frenzy of excitement rippled in the air, the prospect of discovery making the epigrapher and the agent a little bit giddy.

A good fifteen minutes later, their next clues were revealed.

"Oh, wow," Quinn gasped.

"What does it say?"

"Look ahead."

When they did, all they saw were the gentle curves of the mountains. In the growing evening, they were nothing but mere humps rising above the horizon, but Quinn knew that in the bright daylights, those towering beasts of nature were one of the most beautiful sights in all of Gallifrey.

"The white wall."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 1950hrs (New Earth)**_

He heard a yell, and then the first shots were fired. Sam grinned; it was his cue to move in. With one last peek at the roving spotlights guarding the area, he made a quick dash across the makeshift courtyard and ducked behind a tire of the nearest Void Ship. Rounds pierced through the stillness of the night; a perfect distraction.

Five feet away, he recognized Mike's silhouette stooping low behind a crate of supplies. The K-9s were nowhere to be seen, and there were three possible locations to find them. He stole a quick glimpse around his hiding spot and noticed an opening. With their headsets still malfunctioning, Sam couldn't afford his team to split up again.

He gave Mike a curt nod and signaled for the other agent to cover his back as he slipped into the ship. Glancing around, it became obvious that the vessel was used for logistics purposes. Storage units lined the short corridors until he chanced upon a room at the end of the hallway. With Mike following closely behind, he made a motion to enter. Dexterously prying the door open, he crossed the threshold and into the dimly-lit space, barely large enough to accommodate a person.

And then he heard the familiar pulsing of a sonic blaster.

"Who are you?" a voice hissed lowly.

Sam turned around, deliberately slow, with his hands in the air, only to face a rather terrified-looking man in his mid-forties shakily holding a weapon to his face. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, and if anything, the person reminded Sam of an uncle he never knew he had.

Too easy.

In one swift move, he had the man pinned to the floor, the firearm cluttering across the metal grating and disappearing underneath the desk by the wall.

"I think the question here is 'who are you'?" Sam growled in the man's ear. "And what are you doing in Gallifrey?"

"You're with her, aren't you?" he wheezed. "That epigrapher."

Sam felt the icy prickle at the back of his head at the mere mention of her.

"You have five seconds to tell me who you are and who you're working for," the agent demanded tersely, pulling out his own sonic blaster from his thigh holster and digging its nozzle into the nape of the guy's neck. Hearing him speak of Quinn ignited a protective fury in his being. "Five. Four. Three. Two—"

"All right," he blurted out. "I'm Jacob Ben Israel. I work as a TA at the UAS under Professor Sue Sylvester."

"The lady in the tracksuit?" he deadpanned.

"Yes, that's her," he babbled on. "She heads The Book of Rassilon Project at the university."

"What happened to Figgins?"

"She had him fired. After she heard about Torchwood's involvement in the search, she became interested—or obsessed—with finding it herself. She knew that Quinn Fabray is the key to deciphering the codex and the only way to find the book is to find her."

"And where do you come in, then?"

"I'm just a linguist. She wants me to figure out all that we have of Quinn's translations, and if I don't, my job and family are in jeopardy," he whimpered, close to sobbing. "And I can't let anything happen to my wife and two kids. They're all I have."

Sam darted his eyes up to meet Mike's apprehensive ones. In synchronized understanding, the other agent stepped into the room and as quietly as possible closed the door.

"Okay, buddy, here's what you're going to do," he said, asserting authority. "You're going to tell us everything—all of Sue Sylvester's plans—and then you're going to conveniently forget that we were ever here, because I can assure you that Torchwood has a bigger influence in your career path than a woman with a greed for power."

Jacob looked as though he was about to protest, but when it became apparent what his options were, he heaved a compliant sigh and began cooperating, spilling details in a tangled mess of words. It wasn't long until Mike and Sam had all the information that they needed and was heading for the main circuit boards to activate the frequency stabilizer.

"Can you lock it?" Sam asked.

"Give me a second," Mike replied, determination in his voice as he furiously tapped away on the system controls.

The overwrite triggered the alarm, alerting everyone of their presence. Knowing that they had but a couple of minutes before someone came for them, the two agents decided to split up. After checking that their headsets were working perfectly once again, Mike trudged down the corridor to locate the K-9s.

Sam heard heavy footsteps approaching and stooped behind a metal cabinet, weapon drawn and ready. And then there were voices—irritated and gruff—of two of the henchmen, and patiently he waited until they were within range before he attacked. Swift and effective—a couple of blows to the jaw, a hard kick to the midsection, another punt to the tailbone—and he had two unconscious thugs sprawled on the grating.

The headset crackled in his ear.

"Sam, you there?"

He chuckled. "Never thought I'd actually enjoy hearing your voice, Puck."

"Shut up."

"What's your 20?"

"Rappel drop zone," his teammate informed. "Finn and I still have incoming fire, but it'll be a while before those idiots realize that they're shooting at the wrong spot."

"Good job. Head back to first position," Sam instructed, turning at a junction that would lead him out the back exit of the ship. "Mike, how are the K-9s coming along?"

"One more circuit to fry and I'm done," the agent replied. "There are a couple of Air Drones in here too. You want me to tear them apart?"

"Think you can handle it?"

"Piece of cake."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**13.04.2805, 2130hrs (New Earth)**_

They stood at the base of the mountain, both trying to catch their breaths.

"Do we really need to climb up there?"

Quinn tilted her head back to register the daunting task, and groaned internally, removing the goggles on her head. "God, I seriously hope not."

"So what do we do now?" Brody wondered out loud, copying her actions and pocketing the equipment into holster. "Is there something from the fourth book that we can use as a clue? Any more hieroglyphs that we're supposed to find now that we're here? You're certain this is where we're supposed to be, yes?"

She could feel an impending migraine creeping up. Never before had she been in such a stressful position, let alone have an entire human civilization depend on her to prevent a tragedy of cataclysmic proportions from happening.

"I don't know, Brody," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "Let me just sleep on it for a second, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Quinn, but we're really running out of time and—"

"I know that, Agent Weston," she snapped. "But I haven't slept in over thirty-six hours. I'm fucking exhausted. My brain is going to explode if I think for one more second. All I need is a quick nap, all right?"

He clicked his tongue, as though it was too much to ask of him, but then she was glaring daggers through his skull, and he must've realized how crucial her request was because he promptly shut his trap and granted her the short reprieve. Grumbling and cursing under her breath, Quinn made a pillow out of her backpack and had drifted off before much else.

It could've been hours, or possibly mere minutes, but then she was rudely awoken by gentle nudges to her shoulder and someone whispering her name in her ear. She stirred, eyelids still on half-mast and blearily aware of her surroundings, until Brody's face entered her line of vision, looking slightly perturbed.

"Hey, Quinn," he whispered harshly. "You need to get up now. I think we're being followed."

"What?" she croaked.

"Now, now, now."

Her body was barely catching up to the present before she was shoved into a tuft of dry shrubbery. She winced as the sharp branches scratched her skin, but then Brody was clasping his hand over her mouth and signaling for silence. Miffed, and still grumpy, she smacked his arm away, having enough of being manhandled one too many times that day.

And then she heard it; the sound of footsteps, like boots on the hard ground.

Every last trace of sleep left her after that as she turned to the agent on duty to protect her. He was cradling a sonic blaster tightly in his grip, guarded and ready to pounce. Among the quiet, the shuffling noises grew louder; there were more than one of them. Brody shifted, adjusting his stance, and between the cracks in the bush, she saw four silhouettes emerging from the shadows.

"Quinn? Brody?"

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, jumping to her feet.

The holographic projection on Sam's wrist monitor made his boyishly handsome face glow, and before she could think to keep her actions in check, Quinn was launching herself into his strong arms. He welcomed her without hesitation, enveloping her in his safe cocoon.

"Shit, you guys scared the crap out of us," she softly chastised against the column of his neck.

He chuckled apologetically and held on tighter, burying his nose in her hair. "I'm sorry; we didn't mean to do that."

"How'd you guys get here so fast anyway?" Brody asked, folding his arms across his chest. "Did you fly or something?"

"Teleport," Mike explained, looking exceptionally smug as he thrust an arm out. "We stole a couple of black market Vortex Manipulators from the ship. Went back and saw that little message you left for us, and it took little to figure out what it said. When we arrived at the wall and couldn't find you, we traced your DNA signature and locked it to the VM. Also, your equipment should also be working fine now, Brody. We've been right about the frequency disturbances; found the stabilizers and locked it. Should be almost impossible to decode the overwrite now."

"Did you find out whom those Void Ships belong to?" Quinn added to question.

"Professor Sue Sylvester," Finn announced.

"What?" she gasped. "But why would—she wasn't even interested in the project and—Figgins—what is he—"

"We had a run-in with a certain Jacob Ben Israel," Sam chimed in. "He told us everything; Mercedes Jones' involvement, Sue's plans to track you down—"

"Track me down?"

"Don't worry, doll," Puck drawled. "We took care of that. They're going to be blind and handicapped for a while."

"But now that we're aware that there's a legitimate threat to you and the book, we can't allow for this to drag on," Sam informed her solemnly. "Please tell me that you know what's next."

Quinn stepped back and released a shuddering exhale. "I don't."

"She needs to start translating the fourth book," Brody supplied. "We can't figure out anything until she does."

Gnawing on her bottom lip, she avoided their intense gazes and focused on the gravel beneath her feet. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and not wake up till she turned sixty; she needed a break—a breather—just for one night.

"That can be done tomorrow," Sam decided. "We'll sleep in shifts and let Quinn rest her mind, okay? Mike and Puck, you'll take the first quarter."

After everybody had settled down, Quinn dragged her sleeping bag over to where Sam was prone atop his own makeshift mattress and staring up at the stars, and she chose to make camp next to him. Tucking her hands beneath her head, she peacefully studied his profile in the dim glow of the portable heater, watching his long lashes flutter each time he blinked.

"What is it?" he murmured without taking his eyes off the velvet sky.

"Thank you."

He turned then to face her, brows slightly furrowed. "What for?"

She smiled, something warm and grateful. "For understanding."

Instead of replying to her, he mutely unzipped her sleeping bag and wriggled under his own. Before she could question his intentions, though, he was reaching out for her waist and tugging her closer. Ensconced together in one single bedroll, she could feel his heat seep through the material of her shirt and trousers. Her socks-clad feet bumped against his; and as she readjusted to the proximity and how wonderful it was to be held in his arms, Quinn suddenly found herself lost in the sudden onslaught of blissful sensations coursing down her spine. The corner of his lips twitched in a lopsided grin a splitting moment before he leaned in to grant her a slow, lingering kiss.

"Go to sleep, Quinn."

"I'll see you soon."

"Not if I see you first."

**Weep not for roads untraveled  
****Weep not for sights unseen  
****May your love never end  
****And if you need a friend  
****There's a seat here alongside me**

* * *

**A/N:** So there it is! Part 3 of Roads Untraveled. I like how it's more action-packed in this chapter and that everybody is so involved in one way or another. Obviously, I've rated this story M for a reason, so let's see what the last part will bring :P

**NileyOvergron:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked that Quinn made the first move! I suppose in this chapter you kind of realize the reason why (sort of). Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! You're very welcome! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! And yes, more Fabrevans moments in this update too! Hope you like this chapter! Cheers!

**Jason:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked it!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a wonderful review! I really appreciate it! Yeah, balancing sci-fi and romance is a bit tough, especially with so much action going on and a mission to complete! Truthfully, I had to do some research on time flux. I had no idea what it means, no clue how to go about understanding the science, so I made it up. I reckoned if it made sense to me, it should make some kind of sense to people, right? LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**OhHeyAl:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Sci-fi actually boggles my mind to bits. Some of the lingoes were borrowed from Doctor Who (location, K-9, Vortex Manipulator, Rassilon etc.) but when I do need to invent something, I just go about naming something that makes sense to me. I love that quote! It's a great prompt for a Fabrevans story! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hi guys! So, here's the deal: I got to writing this chapter, and it took its own turn and I've decided to split the last part up into two chapters. Not to be a tease, honestly, but the M-rated stuff will only come in the last part of the next chapter, so hopefully you'll stick around for that!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Roads Untraveled**

**Part 4**

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 0700hrs (New Earth)**_

She solved it just as the sun was rising; the final clue to the finishing point, and almost stumbled over her own two feet as she made a mad dash for the team leader. Sam caught her just in time before she barreled head first into him, and then she was shoving her journal at his chest.

"I've found the entrance," she declared, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. "It's so simple and so explicitly obvious, I don't know why nobody had found or figured it out sooner."

"Because there's only a small handful of people who can actually read Circular Gallifreyan?" Sam sassed with a chuckle.

Quinn narrowed her eyes playfully at the agent. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Oh, that was definitely a compliment."

"So where is the entrance?" Mike asked as everybody else huddled around, reeling them back to the present before they could start shamelessly flirting again. "And if it's so obvious, how are we sure nobody had been there or seen it?"

Snatching her book back from Agent Evans, Quinn pointed to a line in her translation and began explaining in rushed, ecstatic tones. "It's not that nobody has never been there; nobody knew where the entrance is. There's a path that starts three miles from here that will lead us up to the Citadel of the Time Lords. It's in ruins now, but like everything else so far, the entrance is found on the ground; a secret passage. I mean, I've been there countless times and I'm not sure how I could've missed it."

Finn arched a skeptical eyebrow. "And you're sure you can find it this time round?"

She beamed, her hazel eyes twinkling off the sunlight.

"Absolutely."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 0930hrs (New Earth)**_

After two hours of tumulus trekking under the scorching heat, they finally came upon a clearing. It wasn't pretty, not even remotely how he had envisioned a once-magnificent structure that—according to Quinn—was an important landmark on Gallifrey and the galaxies surrounding it, but rather a dismal dumping ground for rubble and crumbling structures. A skeletal edifice stood in the heart of it all; remnants of what would've been a spherical force field encompassing the city that now stood precariously in the center of a circular trench that seemed to stretch for eons.

"That's the Citadel?" he questioned, turning to face the epigrapher.

She looked crushed by the sight, lips quivering. "That's it," she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion. "Not much of it left now, but could you just imagine how it must've been like when the Time Lords were roaming about."

"I would've liked to meet them," Sam told her earnestly, offering a comforting smile.

She returned his soft grin with her own. "Me too."

"I don't mean to burst that little bubble of yours, but I think the sight-seeing has expired five minutes ago," Puck quipped. "We should really get to it."

Sam nodded, switching back into his professional mode that entailed him dishing out instructions to the rest of his men. "Brody, take the thermal and scan the area for heat signatures. We need to make sure that we don't have unwanted company," he said as he began tapping away on his wrist monitor and projected a holographic representation of the Citadel. "Finn, I need you to analyze the stability of the structure; whether or not it's safe to venture in—"

"It's safe," Quinn interjected. "I've been inside many times before."

"Precautionary measures, Quinn," he informed her solemnly. "Just let us do our jobs, okay?"

She heaved a sigh and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, but I'm just saying that you're wasting your time. Gallifrey hadn't had a single living specimen reside in over thousands of years—"

Sam leaned in and seized her lips, kissing her soundless.

"There, much better," he preened at her speechless state. "Puck, I want you to run diagnostics on surveillance, what are our best angles, whether or not we need a man stationed at crow's nest. Mike, you and I, we'll be covering tactical; if there are exits we can use in an emergency evacuation—"

"Oh, for the love of God," Quinn huffed, her patience clearly running out as she trudged forward. "Is all that really necessary? Besides, I thought we're running out of time?"

He blinked and watched, frozen on the spot as she confidently strode towards one of the bridges that would take them across the wide threshold. Expertly, she navigated through the large piles of debris; that stubborn woman was going to be the death of him, he was certain.

"Should we go after her?" Mike's question broke the silence.

"Yeah," he agreed, clearing his throat. "We should."

Disregarding the usual mission protocol, Sam quickly caught up to her, cataloguing details with each step and knowing that his team was doing the same. He peered down at the drop and saw nothing but darkness for miles, and wondered what the hell the Citadel actually was to the Time Lords. There were twelve bridges in total that connected to the city; it was a good number to work with and he noted possible exit spots on his wrist monitor.

"This is number four," Quinn announced all of a sudden as she came to a halt and studied the hieroglyph carved to the side of a pillar. "We need to find number seven."

Brody stood next to her and tilted his head as he too stared down at the symbol. "What does the number seven in Circular Gallifreyan look like?"

She didn't even need to stop to think before she was on her knees and drawing circles in the sand and dirt. "Like that."

"Okay, guys, split up," Sam told his team.

They scattered in different directions, and it wasn't long until Mike radioed back on his headset that he had found the seventh bridge, uploading his location onto everybody's wrist monitor.

"Okay, so we've found the seventh bridge," Brody pointed out unnecessarily. "Now what?"

All eyes were on the resident epigrapher, waiting expectantly for her next move. Looking thoughtful and intrigued, she tentatively crouched down to trace the hieroglyph. With a huge grin on her face, she glanced back up to the five guys standing in a circle around her.

"You ready?" she burbled giddily.

"Ready for what?" Puck muttered.

Her smile only grew. "This."

Fingers mapped out against the carving of the symbol, she applied an amount of pressure, and to everyone's amazement, it sunk in. Quinn paused, adjusting her stance as she sat on her heels, and then inhaled a long intake of air. Glancing over her shoulders at Sam, she gave him an elvish wink and turned the dial clockwise.

The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet, the bridge quaking, and instinctively, he threw himself down to shield her from any impending danger. Her fingers grasped onto his biceps, her nose buried in the crook of his neck, and he took a second to revel at the feel of having her in his arms, but all too soon it was over. She pulled away abruptly and jumped to her feet, eyes trained on something behind him as she sharply drew a breath. He spun around, and his gaze landed on a small opening in what seemed to be an absolutely random piece of wall.

"Is that it?" he asked her.

She was positively lucent as she nodded. "I think so."

"Men, we're going in high alert; keep your monitors on full surveillance," he told his agents. "We're in flank, I'm taking head and Finn, I want you on tail. Quinn is our Scorpio trigger, no questions asked."

At the sound of her name, she snapped her head around to regard him with narrowed eyes. "Does it all mean something or are they just a bunch of words to make you guys sound professional?"

He sniffed, double-checking his sonic blaster and activating the scope lights. "We are professionals, Quinn."

She shrugged. "We'll see."

With a mildly-offended scoff, he dropped a quick peck onto her lips, unable to resist such temptation. The teasing tongue-touched grin he received in response made the chorus of groans from his teammates worth it. He sobered up after that, and took charge, heading the group from the front. Keeping a firm hold on his weapon, Sam cautiously trudged through the threshold, the beam of light from his blaster bouncing off the solid white walls and down the dark corridor that seemed to lead nowhere.

Tightening his grip on the firearm, he took another step forward. Instantly, the hallway was illuminated in a blue glow. He froze, muscles flexing, until he heard Quinn gasp behind him.

"Oh, my God," she whispered in awe. "This is beautiful."

Hieroglyphs that appeared like Old Greek letters and mathematical symbols decorated the wide span of otherwise blank slabs in elegant golden inscriptions, neat rows that filled the high ceiling like painted frescos. Orb lamps lined the passageway, lending themselves to the incandescence of what had once been the pride and glory of Gallifrey. It was then that Sam understood Quinn's dedication to understanding the Time Lords and their rich magnificence. Despite the disfigurement found on the outside—the debris and destruction—he found everything else that was beautiful here on the inside.

"I can't believe I'm here looking at this," Quinn exclaimed breathlessly. "This is amazing; history and science and secrets right here in the Citadel. All of this could change everything in the archaeological field; everything that we thought we knew about Gallifrey and the Time Lords."

"They're not in Circular Gallifreyan," Brody noticed.

"This is Old High Gallifreyan," she explained. "It's an ancient language of the Time Lords, virtually extinct centuries ago. Nobody has ever seen or read them, but it was mentioned in the codices."

"So you can't translate them, then?" Mike asked.

Sam peered over his shoulder to see Quinn shrugging hers. "I might be able to, given time, of course."

"Eyes peeled, guys," he murmured, luring them back on track. "We have possibilities of security rigs and booby-traps."

Their footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, everybody on high-alert for anything suspicious. They reached a corner at the end and he waved at the rest to stop as he inched closer, keeping his back against the wall. He peered around, and after ensuring that the coast was clear, gave an indication that he was going to proceed on.

Almost simultaneously, their equipment began emitting a shrill high-pitched frequency, and then suddenly, their wrist monitors went completely blank.

"Shit," Sam cursed under his breath as he furiously tried to revive his gadgets. "Not again."

"Did they already manage to overwrite the stabilizer?" Puck growled, turning to Mike for his expert opinion on everything technology.

"That's not possible," the agent replied calmly, slipping the thermal scanner back into his thigh holster. "With the number of layers of firewall I've blasted their system with, it would take them weeks to crack them all."

"Something else is blocking our gear, then," Sam spat out in frustration, hating how they would be partially blinded from here on. "Perhaps someone else has intercepted our frequencies."

"Could just be the Citadel, gentlemen," Quinn rationalized, unfazed. "Come on, think about it; do you think the Time Lords wouldn't have placed a dampener or a filter around this secret passage? This place possibly holds the most important thing on this entire planet; there's no way such an advanced civilization wouldn't have at least had some security walls blocking technology from any forms of detection."

"She has a point," Brody agreed. "We're not receiving feedbacks; we're just fully cut-off from our equipment."

Sam nodded. "Alright, then, team, we're going in half-blind so we'll have to go low and slow. Quinn is still our Scorpio trigger; we're still bingo on the mission."

After receiving a round of affirmatives from his fellow agents, Sam went into position ahead of the pack and continued down another long corridor. The bluish glow became dimmer the deeper in they ventured, and then it was a maze of twists and turns; a labyrinth in the midst of the Citadel, and he could only guess that they were heading to the heart of it all. He felt the increase in air pressure, the heaviness settling in his chest as his lungs expanded to accommodate to the change. Behind him, he heard Quinn's shallow breathing and craned his neck around to check up on her.

"You okay, Quinn?"

"Yeah," she wheezed. "Just not used to this."

"Not going to pass out, are you?"

"I'll be fine," she swallowed hard. "Time Lords had a far more superior biology than we humans do, so this wouldn't have affected them as much as it does us."

"There's a tank of reserve oxygen in your backpack," he told her. "Use it."

Sam heard a series of shuffling amongst the scuffing of boots, and a few seconds later he identified the hiss of the Reserve Oxygen Tank being activated.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"You're welcome."

They made good distance until they came to a fork in the passageway. There were symbols on the walls with arrows pointing to either sides; directions.

"It's not Circular Gallifreyan, Quinn, but it'll be really helpful if you can somehow decipher it in the next five minutes or so," Sam turned to her.

She took a step forward, squinting her eyes at the hieroglyphs and trying to make sense of the foreign language. When that didn't work, she clicked her tongue and reached into her satchel for the codex and began frantically flipping through the fragile pages, not caring if she was potentially damaging a precious artifact. Right at that moment, nobody gave a horse's ass.

"The fifth volume of the almanac," she explained, looking to the lads. "This is where it all began, that fateful day when I realized we've been going about translating Circular Gallifreyan the wrong way. There was a brief mention of directions in here; I remember it. I just need to find the exact page it was on."

Sam wasn't even sure that speed-translation was a specialty, but Quinn made it seem effortless, and then she was whooping triumphantly.

"Okay, so it says here," she read, her index finger tracing over the characters. "'If you go right, you wouldn't know what's left'."

"It's left then, right?" Brody mused out loud.

Sam scrunched his nose up. "What?" he snickered incredulously. "Which is it, Brody? Left or right?"

The decision was unanimous.

"Left."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 1145hrs (New Earth)**_

They stumbled upon a circular room, lit up in the same bluish tinge and orb lamps lining the walls in that similar fashion. It was massive—probably bigger on the inside, in fact—and right smack in the center of it all was a podium. A spotlight shone down on it like a halo from the heavens, and as Quinn cautiously approached with bated breath, she was momentarily stunned when her eyes landed on the ancient book—the book that she had dedicated the better part of her career searching—encased in a cylindrical force field.

"Oh, my God," she whispered, the quiet of her voice echoing in the space. "The Book of Rassilon. It's beautiful."

"We need to deactivate the force fields," Sam's command sliced through the air, breaking the spell. "Is there a way to it?"

Quinn tore her gaze away from the artifact. "I don't—I don't know—"

"A button, or a dial, or something, Quinn," he snapped, growing impatient; something she couldn't exactly understand. "What is it?"

"I don't know!" she cried out. "I have no fucking clue, Agent Sam Evans."

He trudged past her towards the pedestal, marching with purposeful intent of a soldier focused on a mission, but she quickly brushed it off as just that. They were there to retrieve the book and head back to Torchwood before Sue Sylvester and her posse could get their hands on it first. With that in mind, she followed after him as Puck and Finn kept watch at the entrance. Mike and Brody met them halfway and together, they stood around the podium just staring at the book.

"There has to be a sensor or instructions or something," Sam muttered. "Any further clues from those codices of yours?"

"Codices…" she trailed off.

"What if we just sonic it?" Mike suggested, pulling out his mini blaster.

"No!" Quinn blurted out. "There's a chance you might just burn a hole in the book."

He seemed like he was about to say something, but Sam beat him to it. "We'll take that chance, Quinn."

Before she could protest any further, he had his firearm drawn and had shot a singular beam at the force fields. She flinched away on reflex, but then realized that his sonic blast hadn't even penetrated the shield in the least bit and watched as the agents exchanged perplexed glances.

"What the hell—"

"I'm at a maximum with my blaster," Sam informed his teammates. "We'll fire a simultaneous shot; hopefully it'll penetrate the force field enough to create a temporary crack."

"Roger that," Mike nodded, Brody following suit as both men held their weapons up.

"On my count," Sam ordered. "In three, two, one."

Quinn sucked in a sharp intake of air as the force fields faltered slightly, but otherwise stayed very much intact.

"We need more fire power if we're even going to attempt at a small crack," Brody groaned. "At this rate, I'll drain my blaster in three seconds flat."

"Puck! Finn!" Sam hollered. "Need you up here, pronto. Now, Quinn, when the force field is weakened, and when I say 'now', you'll have to reach in and retrieve the book."

She bopped her head in understanding, and when all five men were properly positioned and poised to shoot, she widened her stance, planting her feet firmly to the ground. Her lips had gone dry, her palms a bit clammy from the anticipation, and she prayed to God that Sam's plan would work or she would risk leaving the planet with a decapitated arm.

"Ready in three, two, one—"

Five beams of sonic blasts speared through the thick membrane in an attempt to diffuse the atoms, or at the very most create an unstable reaction just enough to cause an opening. The force field flickered, the shield thinning considerably.

"Now!"

Her muscles snapped into action, and before Quinn could register her movements, she had successfully snatched the book from its cradle, hugging it protectively to her chest. The sonic blasts have ceased and the force fields were back in place; five agents panting from the exertion, but her attention was fully immersed in the old relic in her hands. Gingerly, she traced the hard edges with the pads of her fingers—some type of Gallifreyan wooden composite that resembled dark oak—and down to the intricate carvings found on the front cover. Old High Gallifreyan symbols bordered its sides, and plastered right in the middle is a three-dimensional sphere half-protruding out in a bump and polished to the nines.

"The Book of Rassilon," she breathed. "I can't believe it."

And then reality caught up with her; of the dangers that the book could bring.

**Weep not for roads untraveled  
****Weep not for sights unseen**

"We need to leave, now."

"No, we need to destroy it."

Sam's harsh words pierced through the air, searing through her heart and leaving her in a daze of confusion. Defensively, she took a step back.

"What are you talking about?" she hissed. "No, we don't."

He wasn't deterred and moved to close the distance between them, though she kept him at arm's length. "Quinn, we have to."

"That's bullshit," she retorted. "We're not destroying the book."

"That's our mission, Quinn," he thundered, his voice reverberating through the concaved walls. "It was never to leave Gallifrey with the book. Our strict orders from the Director are to destroy it."

"Why the fuck would he want to destroy the book?" she flared up, close to sobs. "Centuries of Time Lord history are in this book; this changes everything in the archaeological field. We'll be able to study their technology, their science; how could someone think to destroy something so precious?"

"Because of the dangers it attracts," Sam replied, all the authority of a team leader and none of the compassion of a possible lover. "This book is a threat to the entire universe. The Director felt that it wasn't worth the resources needed to ensure that it would be kept safe. Torchwood's alternative would be to destroy it completely."

Her vision was clouded by unshed tears. "And what do you think of all this, Agent Sam Evans?" she questioned, her tone low, and the storm brewing from deep within. "Are you going to take away the one thing that I've worked so hard to search for—that we've worked so hard for these past few days—and see it all go to dust?"

"This isn't about us, Quinn," he shot back. "We're hired by Torchwood to follow orders. That's all I'm doing."

"And what about me, then?" she demanded, recalling Brody's words to her. "This book is my future, Sam; it's what I have left after this insanity is over. You get to go back to being the secret agent for Torchwood, but what else do I have? Translate more codices? This book will change things for me; a chance to make a difference in my field of expertise, to make a name for myself. What else do I have to go back to when I leave Gallifrey? I don't have a job anymore; fuck, I'm officially dead, so excuse me if I find your orders completely unreasonable."

"You can't pin the blame on me for this," he fumed. "I'm just following the orders of my superiors, because yes, unlike you, I have a job to do. I'm sorry if that's not what you want."

"What I want?" she scoffed, furiously scrubbing away the tear-tracks on her cheeks. "You have no bleeding idea what I want. Of course, why would you care at all, right? Brody was right all along. When this is over, when you're done with this mission, we're just going to go our separate ways and forget this even happened at all, so you know what?" Crossing the remaining distance between them, she shoved the book into his chest. "Just do it."

**May your love never end  
****And if you need a friend  
****There's a seat here alongside me**

With one last parting glare, she spun on her heels and stalked out of the room.

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 1240hrs (New Earth)**_

"Maybe we should—"

"Let her go, Sam," Puck interjected, placing a hand on the team leader's shoulder. "Give her some space."

Sam stared after the female epigrapher's retreating form, feeling a sickening slither in the pit of his stomach as the harshness of his words rang back in his ears. The crushed look in her mesmerizing hazel eyes would haunt him in the darkest of nights, but the one thing that he knew would be unforgivable was breaking her trust. He had been cold; the secret agent in him acting out, and even though the mission was no excuse to cut her like that, he had gone ahead and done it anyway.

One thing about what she had said, however stood out to him like mauve alert.

He turned to face one of his men.

"What did she mean by that comment?" he demanded to know, arching his eyebrow at Agent Brody Weston. "Why did she say that you were right? What did you say to her?"

He raised both his hands up in a calming gesture before he could receive a stripping down from his team leader. "The truth, Sam. You and Quinn are becoming way too cozy; you're starting to think with your dick instead of your head—"

"Careful there, Brody—"

"No, Sam," the other dude shot back, jabbing him square in the chest. "I'm not placing my ass on the line for some booty call. We're on a mission, and I'm not sure if you fell asleep during our field trainings, but we're not allowed to be emotionally attached to anything on the case, and that includes pretty blondes, all right? So what will it be, Agent Evans? Do we destroy this book and complete this damn mission so that we can get back to a hot bath and a nice meal, or are we going to stand here and let your pussy-whipped—"

"Okay, that's enough," Sam barked, shoving Brody aside. "I'm team leader and I'll make the call, whether you like it or—"

He was cut off by a blood-curling scream that shook his nerves, and then he heard his name in a yell that was no mistaking whom it belonged to.

"Sam!"

"Shit, Quinn!"

They took off immediately.

His legs were pumping double-speed, his heart pounding in his ribcage, but the only thing on his mind was of a certain female and the last thing he had verbally thrown at her. He couldn't even be bothered if the rest of his teammates weren't trailing behind; all could think of was getting to her.

"Quinn!" he hollered, his voice booming down the empty corridors, the Book of Rassilon still in his hands. "Quinn, where are you?"

It felt like an endless maze; he had no fucking clue where he was even going.

"Sam!"

Someone slammed into him all of a sudden, blindsiding him and nearly knocking him over. A rush of blonde hit his face, but he was barely able to register anything Quinn was trying to tell him before noticing the group of Sue's henchmen charging towards them.

"Go! Run!" he forcefully instructed her. "Don't stop!"

He drew a sonic blaster from his thigh holster, and then signaled to his team to fall back round a corner. Hastily, he tucked the book into his vest for safe-keeping. Heavy footsteps were fast approaching. Sam gave the nod and the agents launched into an attack.

Shots were fired; beams flashed above his head as he took a round-kick at the nearest perpetrator, effectively disarming him. As the weapon clattered to the ground, he took a swing to the goon's side, sending him stumbling backwards. Another hit to the middle knocked him out good.

He didn't see the fist coming, clocking him below the jaw and splitting him on the lip. It barely stunned him—accustomed combat specialist that he was—but the guy brave enough to throw the punch was quickly swept off his feet. There was a sickening crack as he broke his nose—something that thoroughly satisfied the agent—and he was about to render him unconscious when three punctuated shots rang in the air.

"Okay, that's enough of this barbaric brawling," came a lazy drawl full of self-satisfaction.

Whipping around, Sam froze when he saw one Professor Sue Sylvester with an arm wrapped around a terrified-looking Quinn Fabray and a sonic blaster pointed to her temple. His fingers twitched to reach for his own weapon, but he held still.

"Don't even think about it, cowboy," she smirked, lips curling menacingly. "One wrong move and you'll see bits of her beautiful brain plastered to the walls."

In his peripheral, he noticed his team surging forward. He held his hand out to stop them, giving a subtle shake of his head.

"You're a smart boy, agent," the tracksuit-clad marauder sneered. "Now, hand over that damn book."

He swallowed hard, keeping a mask of indifference. "I don't have it."

"Don't test me, boy," she growled, pressing the nozzle deeper into Quinn's flesh. The epigrapher whimpered in fear, her hazel eyes wide and watery. "We can just settle this the easy way and nobody gets hurt. Now, I'm going to ask you nicely one last time; hand over that Goddamn book."

Torn between decisions, he kept his gaze firmly glued to the dictatorial woman. As a Torchwood agent, his missions hadn't been focused on hostage negotiation. They were the guys that finished the jobs that needed to be wrapped up, and for the first time in his career, Agent Sam Evans was at a loss. One look at Quinn, however—the wonderful person caught in this mess—and he knew he had to make a swift decision based on his gut instinct; protocols be damned.

"I don't have it," he repeated, enunciating each syllable.

"That's not very smart of you."

An unfamiliar voice joined in the intervention; Mercedes Jones. She stood, feet apart and cradling her own sonic blaster in both her hands, an eyebrow arched expectantly, a frown on her ruby-red lips.

She pulled the trigger.

Quinn gave an outcry. "No!"

Puck flinched, and then crumbled in a heap, clutching onto his arm. "Fuck! Fucking hell, the bitch shot me."

"Hand over the book," the voluptuous epigrapher faux-sweetly demanded. "Or I'm going to start using more of you as target practice."

"Just give it to her, Sam," Quinn sobbed. "It's not worth it."

"Don't," Puck bit out. "She's just going to fucking shoot, anyway."

The weight of the book dug into his skin, reminding him of the choices and lives at stake— of the future of the universe—and instinctively, he curled his fingers into clenched fists.

"Yeah, Sam," Mercedes taunted. "Just like this."

Before his reflex could kick in, Finn was down. She had him shot at the thigh, looking smug and pleased about it as Quinn's scream echoed down the hallways.

"Stop! Mercedes, don't! Don't do this!" Quinn was in near hysterics, trying to escape Sue's tight grasp. "You don't need to shoot anybody. Sam, just please, please give her the book."

She was right; he couldn't risk anymore of his men.

Very hesitantly, Sam fished into his vest for the offending artifact.

"Nice and easy, just slide it over," Sue instructed.

He reluctantly obliged, hating every single second it seemed like he was surrendering.

"Jones, grab it and let's get the hell out of this shit hole."

Pompously, Mercedes strutted over to join her partner-in-command, picking the book off the floor along the way and waving it up triumphantly in the air like a prized trophy. "It's been a pleasure working with you, boys, but unfortunately, we need to bounce. Thank you so much for your kind generosity and hard work. You'll be mentioned in our memoirs—"

"We get it, Jones," Sue deadpanned, growing steadfastly bored. "Let's get that shit out of here."

"You disgust me, Sue," Quinn said through gritted teeth. "What are you going to do with that book, anyway? There's nobody on New Earth who could decipher Old High Gallifreyan or even know where to begin translating it. You wouldn't be able to do anything to it."

Sam could only watch on helplessly, his blood boiling over, as Sue's smirk only grew as she tugged the epigrapher closer, her lips hovering over the other blonde's ear. "That's why you're coming with us."

With a flash of white light, all three women vanished into thin air.

"Shit."

* * *

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 1325hrs (New Earth)**_

Quinn winced at the uncomfortable push and pull on her body, twisting her insides into tight strings, but then she felt the ground beneath her feet and a wave of nausea hit her like a damn freight train. Wobbling unsteadily as she tried to locate her equilibrium, she took in huge gulps of air to quell the urge to throw up. She blinked a couple of times, hoping to clear her blurring vision.

"If you puke in here, you're cleaning it up," Sue remarked, shoving her down onto a chair before she could regain her stability.

Mercedes advanced on her then with rope in her hands, swinging it like a lasso predatorily and grinning like the cat that had gotten the canary, her boots clicking against the metal grating. A quick glimpse around confirmed that they were indeed on a Void Ship, and Quinn briefly wondered if they were the only ones on it.

"Quinn Fucking Fabray," she purred. "How the mighty have fallen, huh?"

The epigrapher glared hard at her ex-colleague. "Why are you doing this, Mercedes?"

**Give up your heart left broken  
****And let that mistake pass on**

"You know something, Quinn," she began, eyes narrowed to slits. "I've had to live in your shadows for so long while you use that pretty ass of yours to climb up the ladder. I've worked my butt off before and that got me absolutely nowhere, and all you had to do was bat those Barbie lashes and you have everything served to you on a platter."

**'Cause the love that you lost  
****Wasn't worth what it cost  
****And in time you'll be glad it's gone**

"That's not true and you know that—"

"You wouldn't know what it feels like to struggle," Mercedes snapped, bringing her nose barely inches away from Quinn's, her hands braced on the arms of the chair as she caged the woman in. "You wouldn't know what it feels like to not be recognized for the work that you've done, all the shit that you had to go through—"

"You're getting it all wrong—"

"Oh, just shut up, Quinn."

* * *

**A/N:** So, there it is! One more part to go; I'm stoked because it's already halfway in the bag; I just need to finish it!

**NileyOvergron:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a generous review! I really appreciate it! Well, it's not ending yet, there's still one more chapter! I'm glad that you caught on to that scene in the previous chapter between Brody and Quinn, because that came back to nip them in the butt. It's a bit dramatic now between Sam and Quinn with the addition of the book, as well as Mercedes and Sue meddling in, so it'll definitely be action-packed in the next part before things are resolved, and yes, I can guarantee you the steamy M-rated stuff as well. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! As usual, you've never failed to constantly leave a review! Thank you so much, and I really appreciate it! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Well, I suppose the previous chapter felt short because of the lack of action, and more of Quinn and the team trying to locate the book and not much of other developments in between, especially since I split them up to carry out separate jobs. Also, I know how you're excited about the M-rated stuff in this update, and I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it'll definitely come through in the last chapter! Hope you've enjoyed this update either way! Cheers!

**Guest:** Hello there! I'm not sure if you're one person reviewing chapters 1 to 3 together, but I'd like to thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the genre; it's something I've been meaning to write for a while but just didn't have the courage to do it. Apologies for the lack in M-rated stuff in this chapter, but rest assured, it'll definitely be on the next! Cheers!

**ficmonsteR:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! First of all, I apologize for the disappointment of delaying the M-rated stuff to the next chapter, but I had to break the updates up because it was getting long. Hope you still liked the chapter either way. Cheers!

**Keira:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Glad you liked it so far. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Here it is! The final installment to this five-parter!

Enjoy!

xXx  
CeruleanBlues

* * *

**Roads Untraveled**

**Part 5**

_**Kasterborous Constellation, Gallifrey, Arcadia  
**__**14.04.2805, 1325hrs (New Earth)**_

"Damn it!" he sputtered, raking his fingers roughly through the short strands of his hair as he spun around. "Mike, can you latch onto their coordinates?"

The dude was already furiously tapping away on his Vortex Manipulater. "On it."

"All right, Brody, you're staying with Puck and Finn," Sam instructed, fishing out the canister of Nanogenes and tossing it over to the other agent. "Fix them up and teleport them back to Torchwood for a proper medical check. Mike and I will meet you back at base. We'll radio over if we need anything."

His teammate nodded. "Roger that."

Sam turned back to Mike. "Got it?"

"Almost there," he replied, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "Residual vortex particles are rather tricky."

It clicked in his head, all of a sudden.

"Don't bother," Sam told him. "They're back at the Void Ships."

Mike arched a skeptical eyebrow. "You sure?"

He stared right back, in all of his given authority. "Are you questioning me, agent?"

Clearing his throat, the other man straightened up and squared his shoulders. "No, sir."

Satisfied that he'd received the right answer, Sam nodded tersely, adjusting the coordinates on his Vortex Manipulator. "See you on the other side."

He felt the familiar jolt of being teleported, the sharp tug in his gut, and then the heavy pull as his feet landed on stable grounds. Another flash of light blinded him for a moment before Mike materialized in front of him, and after a quick check that they were both still intact, Sam took in the less-than-favorable surroundings.

"Fuck," he muttered, immediately reaching for his sonic blaster.

The scene that greeted them looked like a set out of a war movie. Dead academics and henchmen littered the area, pools of blood forming morbid puddles of crimson, and firearms that had been discarded in the midst of what seemed to be a battle of retaliation.

**Weep not for roads untraveled  
****Weep not for paths left alone**

"What the hell happened here?" Mike gaped in shock, edging cautiously towards the nearest body sprawled lifelessly on the ground. Crouching down, he checked for a pulse and spat a curse when he found none. "This isn't good."

**'Cause beyond every bend  
****Is a long blinding end  
****It's the worst kind of pain  
****I've known**

The familiar whirr of an engine snapped them back to the present, and Sam whipped his head around to see the swirls of dirt and sand circling an interplanetary parked at the furthest end. The Void Ship was about to take off with Quinn, Sue and Mercedes on it, and in a moment of weakness, he desperately tried to keep his surging emotions in check. Another executive decision against Torchwood training protocols had to be made, regardless of how he felt for the epigrapher who was being held hostage.

"Brody." he very nearly yelled into his headset. "What's your 20?"

There was a crackle in his ear, and then a muffled voice came through. "Still at the Citadel, Sam."

He stifled an aggravated sigh, knowing that he shouldn't be taking his frustrations out on his fellow men. "Once you're done, I need you down here, pronto. We have a cleanup situation at hand."

"Copy."

"Mike, you're going to stay out here; do a check for survivors. I'm going in."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Sam broke into a sprint, leaping over broken objects and shattered equipment. The hot air blasting from the Void Ship's engines were blowing tiny granules and stray bits about, scratching at his face and impairing his vision as he rounded for the back entrance. It was shut; the tires were starting to retract as the spacecraft prepared for launch.

"Shit!"

He spied a stack of crates a couple of feet away and made quick a calculation of the distance. Swiftly, he climbed on, gaining a vantage point from the height as the Void Ship hovered higher and higher. Licking his dry lips, Sam made the jump. He soared through the air; arms extended, back arching, almost suspended in time, and then his fingers closed around the metal handrail beside the doorjamb. His biceps flexed in an effort to hold his weight, his body still dangling dangerously off the ship.

His eyes darted up to the red button, just inches out of reach.

"Damn it!"

With a grunt, he pulled himself up, closing the gap and releasing one hand enough to slam it down on the knob. The hatch slid open with a gratifying swoosh. He swung his legs over, the back of his left boot catching on the ledge and hauled his body into the entryway, landing noisily on the metal grating. Grimacing, he scrambled to his feet and promptly hit a lever to shut the door.

"I'm in," he informed his team. "Shouldn't be difficult to find them now."

"Roger that, Sam," Brody replied from the other end. "I'm en route to Gallifrey from Torchwood."

"Copy that, Brody."

Locating the pilot's deck didn't take much at all; he'd been on enough ships in his life to memorize floor plans to over three hundred models across the galaxy. Stealthily, he climbed up a set of stairs, hearing familiar voices when he reached the second floor landing. He crept down the corridor, following the muffled conversation until he came to a chamber at the front end of the carrier. Inching closer, he pressed his back up against the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the situation.

The only problem was the bloody cabinet blocking his view.

"Where are you taking me?"

Quinn's voice sent his heart racing again tenfold, the stubbornness in her tone more than a warm welcome because it meant that she was at least still conscious and lucid.

"Trust me when I say that it's not going to matter to you," Mercecdes retorted.

"Krop Tor," Sue informed her curtly. "That sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Sam's ears perked up at the new information even as confusion and doubt flooded his head. He frowned, brows furrowed, wondering what a woman such as Sue Sylvester wanted to do on such an impossible planet—or most importantly how she came to know of it.

Krop Tor was classified information; something even the United Nations of New Earth didn't know about because it was a planet that shouldn't exist. Technically, a planet orbiting a black hole shouldn't even be feasible. Astronomers, astrophysicists and cosmologists have been studying probabilities for years, trying to figure it out, but the mystery remains. A sanctuary base had been abandoned there long after the scientists have evacuated, the environment too unpredictable and unstable for habitation.

"But there's only—"

"Wait, what?" Mercedes remarked, her pitch rising into an almost-screech. "That's not the plan. I thought we were going to Dalton VIII?"

"Change of plans," Sue said evenly. "If we go back to New Earth, Torchwood would be all over us the second we breech the surface."

"I can bet that they're all over you right now," Quinn bravely retorted.

"But there's nothing on Krop Tor," Mercedes protested, sounding slightly more hysterical than before. "Besides, it's too dangerous for teleportation, especially with such a big ship. If we're not careful, the black hole could eat all of us up."

Sue didn't even hesitate with a response. "Well, that's a risk I'm willing to take."

Sam knew the potential of that black hole. The gravitational effects alone would shake the flight patterns of the Void Ship. It wasn't built to travel such daunting conditions; there was no mistaking that they wouldn't survive the landing.

"Not on my watch," he muttered under his breath, darting behind the hindering cabinet.

"You're out of your mind, Sue," Mercedes continued to object, now pacing the length of the deck as her counterpart blatantly ignored her to concentrate on piloting the vessel. Sam spied the map of the galaxy on the screen, noticing the roundabout route that Sue had decided on. An icon at the corner flashed mauve, a universal warning of sorts. In the background, Mercedes hadn't ceased her frantic disapproval at the choice, hoping to sway the older woman back to their initial plan.

And then he saw Quinn, all bound up to a chair; her hair mussed, a streak of dirt across her cheek, the Torchwood-issued get-up askew, and gnawing on her bottom lip. Her shoulders are hunched over, tensed and looking uncharacteristically defeated. His heart ached to see her in such a position, the distress marring her flawless features. As though sensing his presence, she turned her head all of a sudden, their eyes locking instantly. A wave of relief swept over her face, but as she made to open her mouth, he placed a finger to his lips to silence her.

"You know what, Mercedes," Sue shot back, interrupting the other woman mid-sentence as she whipped her sonic blaster out and aimed it right at her partner-in-crime. "I'm so tempted to blow your face off and throw you out of my ship right this instant if you don't shut your pie hole. I'm in charge here; you just nod and agree with everything I say."

Sam stiffened at the sight, knowing that he needed to act fast before things escalated into something ugly.

"We agreed that this is an equal partnership," Mercedes glared back head on, not the least bit phased by the weapon pointed at her. "I've invested in this just as much—if not more—than you have. Let's face it, Sue; you wouldn't be able to achieve this if it weren't for me."

**Give up your heart left broken  
****And let that mistake pass on**

"That's right," Sue leered. "Which means I have no need for you anymore."

"You know that's not true."

She shrugged. "I've got Blondie over there. She'll suffice in doing my job for me."

It happened in a blink, as Mercedes lunged over for her own firearm, holding it up to Quinn's temple. "Maybe; maybe not. Let's see if Golden Girl here is of any use when I—"

The smirk that graced Sue Sylvester's lips was that of a relentless dictator. "Go ahead. You know that you're only screwing yourself by getting rid of her."

Sam watched at her hard-set expression morphed into that of a scornful person—someone bitter and jaded from the unsatisfactory years—at having been ridiculed time and again. It was a dangerous emotion to have, especially with a sonic blaster in her hand. Any slight agitation could tick her off.

"Mercedes, you don't have to do this," Quinn implored. "We can work together; you and I, like we used to."

**'Cause the love that you lost  
****Wasn't worth what it cost  
****And in time you'll be glad it's gone**

"Like we used to?" she spat out venomously. "That's the last thing I want with you right now. Whenever you were there, I was always overlooked and underappreciated. Honestly, Quinn, your righteousness sickens me, and now I'm going to end this once and for all—"

"No!"

He leapt into action. Slamming his boot down on Mercedes' wrist, effectively dislodged the weapon, only to hear another go off. A cry pierced the air; an icy chill ran down his spine. Breaking his fall with an effortless tumble, Sam whipped his head around to find Quinn in a grimace, blood oozing from her right arm.

"Shit," he growled, noticing that Sue had her gun trained on him next.

"Sam!" came Mike's voice through his earpiece. "What's going on in there?"

"Well, well, well," she drawled. "Look who decided to show up to the after party."

"Sue, please, don't," Quinn groaned, wincing in pain, eyes tightly shut.

Sue gave a pout, pretending to deliberate over a decision. "This is getting really tiring, you guys. I have enough of this rivalry bullshit—"

There was a clatter of movement as Mercedes scrambled for her firearm. A split second later, another shot rang high in the deck. Regardless, that was enough. Surging to his feet, Sam slipped a pocketknife into Quinn's uninjured hand before hurtling forward and swiping his leg across the back of Sue's knees. She fell with a dreadful thud, immediately unconscious.

"Shit, Sam!" Brody yelled into the headset. "Status. Sam, I need your status."

"I'm okay, guys," he croaked. "Situation under control."

"Sam!" Quinn called out, still struggling with her restraints. "You need to activate the emergency landing sequence now or—"

The blaring of alarms cut her off, and he raced to the console, eyes peeled on the multiple screens displaying statistics and maps. On the main one, though, what he saw made his mouth run dry. Never before had he witnessed such power, such splendor as that of a black hole. It burned bright, a ring of yellow, red and orange that circled the spherical recesses of darkness within.

"Sam!"

As if on cue, the Void Ship began to rattle and shake, a violent turbulence that rocked the entire vessel. Objects fell to the ground, wooden crates sliding against the metal grating, instruments and equipment crashing all around them, and all of a sudden, the lights went off.

"Fuck!"

Struggling to stay on his feet as the tremors worsened, he quickly consulted his wrist monitor for the appropriate coordinates for Arcadia. He punched them into the system, and with a couple more commands, the ship stilled, as though suspended in time and space. Knowing what was about to happen next, he braced for impact.

He was yanked backwards, his fingers slipping off the console as he was dragged off his feet. The vessel began to warp, the molecules in the air twisting around his body, and before he could register the throbbing in his head, he was catapulted forward into the front panel of the deck. There was another lurch of the ship, and then a hard thump before he heard the telltale whistle of capsule's landing sequence.

In the near silence, he heard a groan.

"Shit, Quinn!"

Still a bit disoriented from the teleportation, Sam struggled to right himself. Knees wobbly and biceps stinging, he grunted at the uselessness of his muscles. Leaning heavily against the console, he turned to see Quinn sprawled out on the floor, unmoving. Vaguely, he was aware of the collective sound of footsteps in the distance, but his focus was solely on the blonde epigrapher. Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, she had managed to free herself of the restraints, and as Sam sunk down next to her, he noticed the reddened rope burns on her skin. Shifting his eyes up the length of her arm, he hissed at the wound on her arm, cursing the fact that he couldn't do much with the Nanogenes and mentally willed for Brody to get his ass in there immediately.

Delicately, he reached down to shift the strands of hair out of her face, his fingers trailing down to check the pulse point on column of her neck.

A pair of boots emerged in his periphery.

"Is she alive?" Mike asked, the concern in his tone.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, she's breathing."

"Brody has the Nanogenes."

"No," Sam said gruffly. "I'm taking her back to Torchwood. I trust that the both of you can take it from here."

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Mike assured him, gesturing towards the other two women still out cold on the floor. "We've got it covered."

Hastily, he programmed the coordinates into this Vortex Manipulator before scooping Quinn up in his arms. "I'll see you back at base."

"Copy that, Sam."

With a click, they vanished in a flash of white light.

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**14.04.2805, 2115hrs**_

She awoke slowly to the steady beating sound of a heart monitor; the clinical smell of antiseptic and disinfectant hitting her nose, and as she lifted her heavy eyelids, it was to a dimly lit medical bay. There was a dull throbbing at the back of her skull and her throat felt scratchy when she groaned to sit up.

Glancing down at herself, she was aware that she was still clad in those standard-issued clothes even though her Kevlar vest and boots have been removed. The tightening around her bicep brought her attention to the bandage that had been wrapped around it. Instantly, she was flooded with memories from the Void Ship—a bitter reminder that she had indeed been shot—and cursed the day that she had once trusted Mercedes Jones and Sue Sylvester.

"God, I really need a bath right now," she mumbled, running her fingers through the tangles in her hair, now free from the ponytail. There was grime and remnants of sweat and blood on her skin; she felt manky and sticky.

Removing the pulse oximeter from her index finger, Quinn cautiously swung her legs over the cot and set her feet down on the cold floor. Her shoes had been neatly placed by the side, and with a bit of difficulty, she was finally able to lace them up. The painkillers in her system were making her slightly dizzy as she stood, and it took a moment to collect herself before sluggishly heading out of the room.

The corridors were empty; the place was quiet without their usual activity, and she wondered if she was even in the Torchwood Headquarters until a series of stifled voices coming from a random room piqued her curiosity. As she approached, he could identify Sam's distinct tenor, sounding heated and tight.

"I made an executive decision as team leader of the group," he spat out.

"You went against orders, Agent Evans," Director Schuester fired back. "You failed to complete your mission and right this instant, you're risking yourself, your team, and Torchwood by securing a highly sought-after artifact into our premise. We are now a target point in the entire galaxy."

The Book of Rassilon.

Eyes widened, Quinn realized that someone had brought it back, and not in the way that the Director wanted it to. A small smile crept to her lips, silently reminding herself to thank the team leader about it later on. Not only had he gone and done the unspeakable for an agent, he had even stood up to his actions.

"Look, I understand your displeasure, Director Schuester, but—"

"This is inexcusable, agent," the older man snapped, cutting him short. "I should have you stripped of your title and field duties, and thrown into solitary for disobeying a direct order. Whatever your morals are on my decision, it isn't yours to question it. As a field agent, your job isn't to think, but to do—"

She wasn't going to allow it. Fishing into the pocket of her trousers for the spare visitor's pass, she scanned it on the security device, gave her thumbprint and stormed in as best as her condition could the second the door slid open.

"It's not his fault," she blurted out.

Seven pairs of eyes zoomed in on her; seven different expressions and only one that was unfathomable. Staring into those emerald orbs, she moved towards the center of the room, bridging the space between them, breaking it only to face the fuming head of authority. Chin tilted in defiance, she forced the nerves away in confrontation.

"Ms. Fabray," he began, the storm brewing beneath the calm exterior he was now projecting towards her; professionalism at its best. "I believe that you should still be recovering from the traumatic ordeal. Regardless, this does not concern you, and I suggest you stay out of Torchwood affairs."

"It was me," she pressed on anyways. "I begged Sam not to destroy it."

Director Schuester sniffed, glaring pointedly down his nose at her. "And Agent Evans is very capable of making his own decisions, is he not?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I suppose there is no further argument—"

She took a step forward. "No, you don't understand—"

"The book will be handed over to Auxiliary for disposal," he informed her, finality in his tone.

"No, you can't!" she cried out in protest. "That book is important. It holds the answers to the Time Lord's existence and some of the deepest secrets in the universe. We can study from it, learn of the science and technology—"

"It is a threat to us, Ms. Fabray," Director Schuester thundered. "I understand what that book holds in your line of expertise, but it is of no regards to us. Torchwood isn't going to waste our resources trying to protect it any more than we already have. By having the book on board, we are exposing ourselves to unnecessary risks that I'm not willing to take. The best choice of action is to destroy it."

"So that's it, then?" she sputtered. "As much as you like to think it does—and I mean this with no disrespect to your authority—destroying that book isn't going to eliminate the bigger threat out there. The Book of Rassilon is only the first step to understanding what the Time Lords have tried so hard to protect from the entire universe."

The frown on the director's face deepened, the creases multiplying on his forehead. "What are you insinuating, Ms. Fabray?"

Quinn squared her shoulders, inhaling a deep breath, her eyes darting over at Sam for a split second before she began explaining. "In the Circular Gallifreyan codices, there have been sparse mentions of the Untempered Schism, but what it is exactly and what it does, we don't know yet. All that I can tell you, is that it is something extremely sacred to the Time Lords. Every single time that the Untempered Schism appears in the scribes, it is connected to The Book of Rassilon. Its location, its purpose, what it meant to the Time Lords; it's all in the book. You destroy it and you're risking an even bigger threat to the universe."

There was a pregnant pause, the silence heavy in the room.

Finally, Director Schuester cleared his throat. "Why wasn't this brought to my attention?"

"Because I didn't know of your intentions to destroy the book before," Quinn replied tersely.

"And how sure are you about this Untempered Schism? Is it a myth, perhaps? Something Time Lords tell their children to scare them into going to bed."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think I'm lying and making this whole thing up?"

He shrugged. "Do you have proof of this theory?"

"It's not a theory, you—" she stopped herself, biting her tongue before she could lash out an insult in his face. "Do you have my satchel? Or my journal?"

Emma Pillsbury rushed forward with her requested possessions. Quinn snatched it out of her hands and then began spilling its contents onto the circular table that seemed to be a staple fixture in every room in Torchwood. Loose pieces of paper fluttered out of the bag until it was empty, but her journal wasn't in it.

"Where is it?" she demanded, hazel eyes blazing. "Where's my journal?"

"I have it, Quinn."

She spun around just as Sam was pulling the signature leather-bound book from the side pocket of his trousers.

"Couldn't risk anybody getting his or her hands on this," he muttered, looking slightly sheepish.

Torn between wanting to kiss him senseless and wringing his windpipe, Quinn settled with something less dramatic. Crossing the space between them, she retrieved the book from him before offering a tight smile.

"Thanks."

His only response was a curt bob of his head, even though his features softened just a little bit at her gratitude, and she hoped he knew that it was for more than safekeeping her journal. Turning away from him, she began flipping through the pages, stopping at the one she was looking for and then sifting through the pile of papers on the table.

"Here," she eventually spoke, sliding the book over and pointing to the characters that had been written there. "Loosely translated, this says 'before the Untempered Schism lay a plaque bearing the Seal of Rassilon'. That seal can also be found on the front cover of the book."

"Still it doesn't—"

"This, right here," she went on, ignoring the director's attempt at dismissing the evidence. "Is states that 'Rassilon himself grew obsessed with the Untempered Schism; its raw power and terrifying beauty', and in the line after that here, it says, 'Pages after pages, Rassilon wrote about it'—"

"Ms. Fabray—"

"Even Rassilon—the founder of the Time Lord civilization—was afraid of the Untempered Schism. Clearly, whatever it is, it's bad news. If we don't find the Untempered Schism before someone else stumbles over it, all of time and space might never be the same again."

It went so still after that, she could hear a pin drop in the room.

"How long do you think you will need to work on translating the entire book?"

There was an overwhelming sense of elation that Quinn didn't know how to respond to. Her heart was bursting with euphoric emotions, giddiness and immense relief radiating through her body, a brilliant grin splitting her features.

"A month," she gushed. "Two months tops."

Director Schuester pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have a very strong feeling that I'm going to regret this," he muttered, heaving a sigh. "I'm going to grant you confidential access to the book. You will be given level-five security for the duration of your work. You are not to leave Torchwood premises with that book or any materials pertaining to it. You are not to consult with anybody outside of Torchwood—including family members or otherwise—without my written permission. I want full updates on the project promptly at seventeen hundred hours, New Earth time, every day, and you are not to discuss these matters to any other personnel in Torchwood. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," she replied solemnly.

"All right, then," the man smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket and rolled his shoulders before striding towards the door. He stopped short just shy of the exit, however and turned to one of his men. "Agent Evans, I would like to speak to you personally in my office. Now."

Sam gave another nod. "Yes, sir."

With a last parting look, Quinn watched on as he trailed after his superior.

* * *

_**New Earth, McKinley IV, Area 24, Torchwood Headquarters  
**__**14.04.2805, 2320hrs**_

He traipsed down the hallway towards the living chambers, heading for the room he knew she was given. In the off chance that she was still awake—considering the chaotic few days they had on top of her recovery from the gunshot wound—he would very much like to properly talk to her about everything that had happened on Gallifrey; the misunderstandings they had and other pressing topics in his head.

Coming to a halt in front of her door, Sam felt his palms go clammy and hastily wiped them on his black chinos. He squeezed his eyes shut, internally counting down from ten to stabilize his galloping pulse rate. It was ridiculous; he had stood up to the most dangerous of men in the galaxy, had fought off terrorists and corrupted high-ranking officials, but the one person he was currently sweating over was a five-foot-five woman with an intelligence and a heart of gold.

Inhaling a deep breath, he lifted a fist and knocked.

Seconds passed, and he reckoned that she had probably fallen asleep. However, just as he was about to turn away, the door swung open, revealing a very awake-looking Quinn Fabray in an ivory-colored tank top and pair of linen trousers riding low on her hips, a silver strip of skin visible and tantalizing him in so many ways. Her blonde hair had been carelessly piled up atop her head, held together by a pencil with strands falling over. She blinked, startled by his presence.

"Hi."

Forcing down the lump lodged in his throat, Sam found his lips twitching in a lopsided grin. "Hi."

"What are you—why—do you need anything?"

There was a tentative quality to her question, and suddenly all of his well-placed thoughts were scattered about the Milky Way. Self-consciously, he rubbed the nape of his neck; a nervous tick that he had developed over the years.

"I—well—I'm sorry to turn up unannounced like this so late at night," he rambled. "It's just that, I was hoping that we could talk, you know, now that we're finally able to. I think there are a couple of things we need to address."

"Oh." She folded her arms across her chest, unintentionally accentuating those twin mounds when the curves of her breasts peeked out from the edge of her neckline. "Okay, then."

With everything he had, Sam kept his eyes glued to her face, lest she were to catch him ogling her goodies. Even then, he could feel the initial stirrings of an impending arousal in the confines of his pants. The last thing he needed was to sport a massive boner and offend her with mistaken intentions. It wasn't from the lack of trying—he pictured the most unattractive animal he could think of and paired it with the most hideous outfit in the entire history of New Earth—but his little soldier just wouldn't stay down.

"Can I come in?" he asked with a hopeful expression. Perhaps sitting down would help with his uncomfortable situation.

Wordlessly, she stepped aside for him to enter, shutting the door after.

And then he was standing stupidly in the middle of her room, unsure of what exactly he had to do next. His gaze landed on the desk at the corner of the room, littered with books, maps and mountains of stray pieces of paper that extended out to her bed. It looked like a library had exploded in there, especially when he spied a tall pile of academic materials by her wardrobe. In the center of it all, The Book of Rassilon lay opened on a swivel chair.

"You're actually working?" he arched an eyebrow incredulously.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Can't afford to waste any time now, can we?"

"You really should get some rest," he told her, gesturing at the bandage around her arm. "It'll be good for the recovery."

"And yet somehow you've decided it would be the best time to come and talk to me?" she deadpanned.

"I was just trying my luck."

"Right," she smirked. "Okay, so I guess we should talk."

Gingerly, he perched himself down on a vacant spot atop her duvet. "Funny story; I don't know where to start."

She leaned against the edge of the table, her head tilted thoughtfully sideways. "I suppose I should thank you first, for not destroying the book. You trusted me and you went against direct orders from your superior knowing that you would get into a lot of trouble for it."

"Well," he chuckled. "A month of Emma's paperwork is worth it if it means that you'll forgive me for being an ass about the book in the first place."

"You were just doing your job—"

"But that's not it," he cut her off. "What you thought about me—about us—wasn't true. Sure, I mean, whatever Brody told you—about being too attached to our missions and subjects—those were set rules given to us as agents of Torchwood, but then I met you and I just—I couldn't be bothered about the rules. I wasn't trying to lead you on; I really do like you, Quinn. What we have between us doesn't have to end with this mission. I want you; I want to be with you—properly, exclusively—in every way possible."

Getting those words off his chest felt as though a gigantic weight had been lifted, and he figured that he had made quite an impressive speech until he noticed that Quinn had averted her gaze to stare at the floor and was gnawing on her bottom lip.

"Is it even a possibility?" she mused out loud. "I mean, are you even allowed to have a relationship? Between us, you're a field agent and I'm an epigrapher. We're both tethered to our work 24/7. We wouldn't even be able to have date nights and—"

"Contrary to what you believe," he narrowed his eyes. "We are entitled to personal days, so I do in fact have a life outside of this place."

"And when exactly was the last time you actually went out for some fun?" she quipped back cheekily.

"I'll have you know that the guys and I went out for celebratory drinks after our successful capture of Sebastian Smythe, and we got so pissed after, I still can't remember what happened between the fifth pint of lager and waking up to find ourselves completely naked on the banks of the Overgron River."

She snorted in amusement. "Wow," she remarked. "I did not see that coming."

Affronted that she was laughing at him, Sam harrumphed. "You know what, that's not even the point."

"So what is the point, then?"

With a sigh, Sam rose from the bed and came to stand directly in front of her, an arm's length apart. "From where I see it, we'll be spending a lot of time together anyway. Who the hell needs date night when we can be discussing Time Lord history and arguing about who's a better marksmen now that you'll have to learn basic combat and defense techniques? Honestly, Q, do you see us as the normal, conventional couple who holds hands and have candlelight dinners?"

"Honestly, Sam, with all the craziness in our lives, some normalcy would be nice."

He tried—and failed—to conceal the hurt and disappointment on his face. "Oh."

She surprised him, however, when she narrowed the gap between them to wrap her arms around his neck, gazing adoringly up at him through her long lashes. "But for you, Agent Evans, I think I can make an exception."

"Oh, thank God."

They met in the middle, their lips reacquainting themselves seamlessly before she took the upper hand and abandoned all pretenses at modesty, slipping her tongue out to run it over the ridges of his teeth. Kissing her felt exquisite, like drinking velvety hot chocolate, and he never wanted to stop. Her dexterous fingers delved into his hair, scraping at his scalp as she tightened her hold to bring herself flushed up against him, his throbbing erection at full attention and prodding at her belly. He swallowed her small whimper as much as she did his groan, and when she gave a tug, he was struck with a realization that his hands were still uselessly by his sides.

Determined to right that problem, Sam made a grab for her waist, slamming their pelvises together. Giving her a suggestive squeeze, he began backtracking; bringing her with him until he felt the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. In one swift move, he spun her around, tipping her off-balance as they tumbled clumsily onto the mattress, papers crunching underneath them. Lightning-quick reflexes allowed him to catch himself before he could untimely crush her to death, and then he was hovering above her; one knee between her thighs, the tip of his nose brushed against hers as her chest heaved with labored breaths.

"We're not moving too fast, are we?" he husked, trailing one hand beneath the fabric of her top. "Because we barely know each other for a week and normally—"

She hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of his trousers and gave a hard yank downwards, effectively shutting him up. "I thought we've established the fact that we're not normal."

He grinned salaciously back at her. "Absolutely," he purred before swooping in to recapture her lips. "What's so great about normal, anyway?"

"Okay, stop talking."

It was easy enough, especially when his mouth was subsequently occupied with other more orally compliant tasks, and then it felt like high school all over again—frantic snogging in the janitor's closet, or trying not to get caught feeling up Brittany S. Pierce in the kitchen while his mom had her back turned—because fire was running in his veins and all he could think about was needing to feel more of her soft skin against his.

"Eventually you're going to do more than just kiss me, right?" she rasped, her nail digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

"Yeah," he murmured, peppering chaste pecks down the slow of her jaw, nibbling at the tempting spot just beneath her ear. "I can take a hint."

Languidly, he ran his tongue down the column of her neck, tasting as much of her as possible until he found her clavicle, giving it a light nip. She squirmed beneath him, an impatient whimper escaping her throat when he nuzzled the dip between her breasts.

He didn't know how it happened, but then she was cupping him through his trousers. Involuntarily, he released a gasping sigh, lifting his head up to see the coquettish gleam in her gorgeous hazel orbs. She gave him a tentative squeeze; her intent apparent in her predatory gaze, and it was then that he decided that enough was enough. The slow teasing could wait another time.

Pulling away, he began shoving fabric aside; unceremoniously peeling her tank top off her body and nudging the linen trousers down the length of her legs, letting it catch around her ankles and leaving her in a matching set of black cotton lingerie. Only then did he realize that she was giggling at him.

Brows furrowed in confusion, he asked, "what?"

"I think you just broke a world record right there," she snickered.

"Well, I'd like to credit that to the impeccable Torchwood training but we both know that I'd be lying," he preened. "I'm just that good."

"You think you're so impressive, don't you?"

Cheekily, he winked. "I am so impressive."

"We'll see."

And then her nimble hands were on his belt buckle, undoing it with effortless precision. Without breaking eye contact, she proceeded to pop the buttons with a flick of her wrist. His breath hitched as she dragged the zip down and her knuckles brushed against his clothed erection. She paused to trace the waistband of his dark blue boxers, the ravening glint in her striking hazels returning in full force. He opened his mouth, intending on saying something witty or smart to commemorate the moment, but his plans fell flat the instant she wrenched his chinos and pants down his hips in one sudden movement, his shaft springing to attention.

He saw the approval in her leer and couldn't help the burst of manly pride in his chest.

"Impressed, Ms. Fabray?"

"It's…adequate."

Sam wasn't fooled by her attempt at nonchalance; could see it in the way she swallowed at the sight of his package, the lust written all over her beautifully flushed features. Yet, he wasn't going to call her out on it because he knew that he would prove his point by the time he was done with her.

Leaning forward, he seized her lips once again, their tongues dancing a complicated tango as he positioned himself at her entrance. He could feel her moist and heat, his tip bumping insistently against her slick opening. Hooking his arms around the crook of her knees, he hoisted her toned legs up over his shoulders. Despite everything, though, he still wanted her approval, and reluctantly tore his mouth from hers just to do as such.

"You ready?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Good to know that they still teach basic courtesy here at Torchwood."

"Hate to burst your bubble, Q, but that's all me."

"Just shut up and show me how impressive you really are."

"Roger that."

He plunged in; one smooth stroke that had her crying out to the heavens. A groan, low and long, rumbled from the back of his throat at the incredible feel of having him fully sheathed inside of her. A delicious shiver ran down his spine as her muscles clenched tightly around his engorged manhood. Only when she began wriggling her hips did he move with shallow thrusts, slowly stretching her out. The moans that came out of her mouth were a sweet serenade—one that he never wanted to stop listening to—and when her palms came round to cup his rear, pushing him that much deeper in, he reckoned it was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Almost; because he was a Torchwood agent, damn it, and he wasn't going to surrender that easily.

Setting her feet back onto the mattress, he rolled them over. She sat straddling his waist, hands flat on the planes of his abs, her blonde hair curtaining her face like a halo, cheeks reddened and looking positively radiant; he didn't know how he got so lucky. Eventually, she got restless of his blatant gawking and began grinding against him, only to withdraw seconds later before sinking down once again, effectively creating a wonderful rhythm. Grasping onto the swell of her hips, he bucked up into her, matching her thrust for thrust, panting as they sped up, chasing after the fulfillment that they both wanted.

"Q…" he strained to articulate. "Q, I think I'm going to—"

Taking one of his hands, she brought it down to her bundle of nerves. Understanding his cue, Sam pressed a thumb down on the swollen nub, eager to see her come apart. With a gasp and a string of curses, she slammed down hard onto him and soared over the edge. Back arching and head thrown back, she was ethereal, and he was unable to erase the memory etched into his mind of her in the throes of passion. Her walls fluttered around him, triggering his own release with enough sense to pull out of her before emptying himself on his stomach.

Utterly spent, Sam collapsed back down on the paper-laden bed, now uncomfortable against the sweat coating his skin, but he was too exhausted to care.

"You just made a mess," she pointed out rhetorically.

He grunted and watched while she resigned herself to sacrificing a piece of her work as a makeshift flannel for his business, catching the trails that were dripping down his side. When that was done, she crumpled the sullied paper and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket.

"Was that impressive enough for you?"

She pretended to give his question some serious consideration, her succulent lips pouting invitingly as she regarded him with an adorable tilt of her head.

He blinked, wondering if he ought to be insulted.

"Seriously, Q?"

"Well…"

Sam didn't allow her to continue; simply flipped her onto her back and silenced her giggles with a searing, breath-taking kiss.

* * *

_**Seventh Galaxy, Skaro  
**__**15.04.2805, 0115hrs (New Earth)**_

The intergalactic tracker beeped, a red dot pulsing against the holographic projection of New Earth—a planet equivalent to that of a ball of dirt—and Davros' face contorted into a loathsome sneer. Diagnostics flashed before him; inferior atmospheric pressure, subpar technology, biologically-fragile human race, fertile geography. The Time Lords would have to be a completely barmy bunch to trust such poorly-defended beings with their most treasured possessions. Then again, the Time Lords were nothing if not utterly foolish.

**Weep not for roads untraveled  
****Weep not for sights unseen**

Davros could feel the tingle in his mind; could practically taste the power on his tongue.

**May your love never end  
****And if you need a friend  
****There's a seat here alongside me**

"The Book of Rassilon will at last be mine."

* * *

**A/N:** The end! LOL! I know that the last bit is a cliffhanger and a possibility for a sequel, but I can assure you that there will be none. It's just going to end up being one massive sci-fi story that I can't handle and then muck it all up, and I'm not about to resort myself to such a responsibility. Either way, I hope you guys have enjoyed reading this as much as I have writing it!

**NileyOvergron:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a nice, long review! I really appreciate it! LOL! I know that putting Sue and Mercedes as the villains is a predictable move, but their characters wrote themselves so well, I couldn't bring myself to not do it. Of course Sam was going to rescue Quinn, and yes, of course they were going to have some awesome make-up sex! As if I can deny Fabrevans such a scene :P At the moment, I'm going back to THA because chapter 12 is long overdue and I did promise myself that I'd work on it as soon as I was done with WIME, but here I am, writing a completely new story and distracting myself with one-shots. Not to say that I wouldn't be jumping into those. Surely somewhere down the road, I'd pop in random one-shots, we'll see! Cheers!

**Keira:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I hope this update answers your questions regarding the history and relationship between Quinn and Mercedes. People weren't born evil, I should hope not. Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!

**Guest (1):** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! LOL! I'm a suck for those scenes where a guy just shuts a girl up with a kiss. Of course, sometimes, the guy would get slapped for it or whatever, but I'm sure it's a damn effective method 90% of the time! Hope you've enjoyed the ending to the story! Cheers!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving and review, and reading my author's note! I really appreciate it! I'm flattered and honored that you trust me enough as a writer of a fandom that you adore! I've received reviews and PMs in the past that had readers dictating what I should write, and I try my best to make everyone happy, but after a while it became someone else's story and I didn't like that. From then on, I vowed to make decisions on what I feel should be written and not what people wanted me to write. That's not to say that I don't like taking prompts; if anything, they're so much fun to explore because I'm still writing the story the way I wanted it. Also, it's a huge compliment to me knowing that you're not reading my stories just for the m-rated stuff. I love writing them, of course, but I'm also glad that you find my contents just as worthwhile as the smut. Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! As always, you've never failed to make me smile every time a notification pops up to let me know that you've reviewed! Of course Sam would save her :P Is there any other way? LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!

**Exgleek:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you think that the story is cool :) It's tough to write, to be honest. I sweat over it every single time and had to keep checking and re-checking my facts. LOL! Sorry to have spoiled it for you by adding in one more chapter to the story; I'm actually just like you when I read fanfics! I love reading them uninterrupted because I can't take the wait and the anticipation. Hope you've enjoyed the ending, though. Cheers!

**ficmonsteR:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Thank you so much for the kind comments! Hope you've enjoyed this ending! Cheers!

**Clara:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you've liked the story so far, and certainly hope that you've enjoyed that ending! Cheers!

**Guest (2):** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate the lovely comments! Hope you've enjoyed this story! Cheers!

**Guest (3):** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Glad to know that I had gotten you excited for this last chapter! Hope I hadn't disappointed you with the ending :) Cheers!

Song used: "Roads Untraveled" by Linkin Park


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